






4 o 




77/ c ele/ie/htfii/ Solitudes of Lasts cm tie 
exhibit everey where captivating examples 
of Domestic felicity. _¥age>8Z. 




NEW- YORK. 



SOLITUDE: 



BY 



JOHN G. ZIMMERMAN. 



WITH THE 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 



There "s a time 
For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm, 
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, 
And soar above this little scene of thing3 ; 
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet; 
To sooth the throbbing passions into peace ; 
And woo lone quiet in her silent walks. 

Thomson's Seasons. 



ZN TWO PARTS, 



NEW-YORK: 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. H. TURNEY. 

186 Fulton- Street, 

183& 






\^ 5 






CONTENTS. 



PART I. 

CHAP. 

Life of the author - 

i. Introduction 

ir. Influence of solitude upon the mind, 
in. Influence of solitude upon the heart, 
iv. General advantages of retirement 

v. Advantages of solitude in exile. 



PAGS. 

9 

15 

19 

60 

109 

134 



vi. Advantages of solitude in old age and on the bed of death 138 



PART II 



i. Introduction, - • - - - . . 
n. Of the motives to solitude, 
in. Disadvantages of solitude, 
iv. Influence of solitude on the imagination, 

v. Effects of solitude on a melancholy mind, 
vi. Influence of solitude on the passions, - 
vn. Of the danger of idleness in solitude, 
vin. Conclusion. 



149 
157 

185 
200 
216 
235 
274 
279 



I 



PREFACE. 



Weak and delicate minds may, perhaps, be alarmed 
by the title of this work. The word solitude, may pos- 
sibly engender melancholy ideas ; but they have only 
to read a few pages to be undeceived. The author is 
not one of those extravagant misanthropists who ex- 
pect that men, formed by nature for the enjoyments of 
society, and impelled continually towards it by a mul- 
titude of powerful and invincible propensities, should 
seek refuge in forests, and inhabit the dreary cave or 
lonely cell ; he is a friend to the species, a rational phi- 
losopher, and the virtuous citizen, who, encouraged by 
the esteem of his sovereign, endeavors to enlighten the 
minds of his fellow creatures upon a subject of infinite 
importance to them, the attainment of true felicity. 

No writer appears more completely convinced than 
M. Zimmerman, that man is born for society, or feels 
its duties with more refined sensibility. * 

It is the nature of human society, and its correspon- 
dent duties, wliich he here undertakes to examine. 
The important characters of father, husband, son, and 
citizen, impose on man a variety of obligations, which 
are always dear to virtuous minds, and establish be- 
tween him, his country, his family, and his friends, re- 
lations too necessary and attractive to be disregarded, 

" What wonder, therefore, since th' endearing ties 

Of passion link the universal kind 

Of man so close ; what wonder if to search 

This common nature through the various change 

Of sex, of age, and fortune, and the frame 

Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind 

With unresisted charms ? The spacious west, 

And ail the teeming regions of the south, 

Hold not a quarry to the curious flight, 

Of knowledge half bo tempting or so fair, 

Ah man to man. 1 ' 

1* 



6 PREFACE. 

But it is not amidst tumultuous joys and noisy plea- 
sures ; in the chimeras of ambition, or the illusions of 
self-iove ; in the indulgence of feeling, or the gratifica- 
tion of desire, that men must expect to feel the charms 
of those mutual ties which link them so firmly to soci- 
ety. It is not in such enjoyments that men can feel 
the dignity of those duties, the performance of which 
nature has rendered productive of so many pleasures, 
or hope to taste that true felicity which results from an 
independent mind and a contented heart : a felicity sel- 
dom sought after, only because it is so little known, 
but which every individual may find within his own 
bosom. Who, alas! does not constantly experience 
the necessity of entering into that sacred asylum to 
search for consolation under the real or 'imaginary 
misfortunes of life, or to alleviate indeed more frequent- 
ly the fatigue of its painful^ pleasures? Yes, all men, 
from the mercenary trader, who sinks under the anxie- 
ty of his daily task, to the proud statesman, intoxicated 
by the incense of popular applause, experience the de- 
sire of terminating their arduous career. Every bosom 
feels an anxiety for repose, and fondly wishes to steal 
from the vortex of a busy and perturbed life, to enjoy 
the tranquillity of solitude, 

" Hackney'd In business, wearied at that oar 

Which thousands, once chain'd fast to, quit no more, 

But which, when life at ebb, runs weak and low, 

All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ; 

The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, 

Pant for the refuse of a peaceful shade 

Where all his long anxieties forgot. 

Amidst the charms of a sequester'd spot, 

Or recollected only to gild o'er :- > 

And add a smile to what was sweet before, • 

He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, 

Lay his old age upon the lap of case, 

Improve the remnant of his wasted span, 

And having liv'd a trifler, die a man." 

It is under the peaceful shades of solitude that the 
mind regenerates and acquires fresh force; it is there 
alone that the happy can enjoy the fulness of felicity, 
or the miserable forget their wo ; it is there that the 
bosom of sensibility^ experiences its most delicious 
emotions ; it is there that creative genius frees itself 
from the thraldom of society, and surrenders itself to 
the impetuous rays of an ardent imagination. To this 
4esired goal all our ideas and desires perpetually tend, 



PREFACE. 7 

* There is," says Dr. Johnson, " scarcely any writer, 
who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, 
and delighted himself and his readers with the melody 
of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmurs of 
rivulets ; nor any man eminent for extent of capacity, 
or greatness of exploits, that has not left behind him 
some memorials of lonely wisdom and silent dignity." 

The original work from which the following pages 
are selected, consists of four lar^e volumes, which have 
acquired the universal approbation of the German em- 
pire, and obtained the suffrages of an empress celebra- 
ted for the superior brilliancy of her mind, and who 
has signified her approbation in the most flattering 
manner. 

On the 26th of January, 1785, a courier, dispatched 
by the Russian envoy at Hamburg, presented M. Zim- 
merman with a small casket, in the name of her ma- 
jesty the empress of Russia. The casket contained a 
ring set round with diamonds of an extraordinary size 
and lustre ; and a gold medal bearing on one side the 
portrait of the empress, and on the other the date of 
the happy reformation of the Russian empire. This 
present the empress accompanied with a letter, written 
with her own hand, containing these rpmarkable words: 
— "To M. Zimmerman, counsellor of state, and physi- 
cian to his Britannic majesty, to thank him for the ex- 
cellent precepts he has given to mankind in his treatise 
upon solitude." 



LIFE OF ZIMMERMAN, 



John George Zimmerman was born on the 8th day 
of December, 1728, at Brugg, a smal] town in the can- 
ton of Berne. 

His father, John Zimmerman, was eminently distin- 
guished as an able and eloquent member of the provin- 
cial council. His mother, who was equally respected 
and beloved for her good sense, easy manners, and 
modest virtues, was the daughter of the celebrated 
Pache, whose extraordinary learning and great abili- 
ties, had contributed to advance him to a seat in the 
parliament of Paris, 

The father of Zimmerman undertook the arduous 
task of superintending his education, and, by the assis- 
tance of able preceptors, instructed him in the rudi- 
ments of all the useful and ornamental sciences, until 
he had attained the age of fourteen years, when he 
sent him to the university of Berne, where, under 
Kirchberger, the historian and professor of rhetoric, 
and Altaian, the celebrated Greek professor, he studi- 
ed, for three years, philology and the belles lettres, 
with unremitting assiduity and attention. 

Having passed nearly five years at the university, he 
began to think of applying the stores of information 
he had acquired to the purposes of active life ; and af- 
ter mentioning the subject cursorily to a few relations, 
he immediately resolved to follow the practice of phy- 
sic. The extraordinary fame of Haller, who had re- 
cently been promoted by king George II. to a profes- 
sorship in the university of Gottingen, resounded at 
this time throughout Europe: and Zimmerman deter- 
mined to prosecute his studies in physic under the aus- 
pices of this great and celebrated master. He was ac^ 



10 THE LIFE OF 

mitted into the university on the 12th of September, 
1747, and obtained his degree on the 14th of August, 
1751. To relax his mind from severer studies, he cul- 
tivated a complete knowledge of the English language, 
and became so great a proficient in the polite and ele- 
gant literature of this country, that the British poets, 
particularly Shakspeare, Pope, and Thomson, were as 
tamiliar to him as his favorite authors, Homer and Vir- 
gil. Every moment, in short, of the four years he 
passed at Gottingen, was employed in the improve- 
ment of his mind ; and so early as the year 1751, he 
produced a work in which he discovered the dawmngs 
of that extraordinary genius which afterwards spread 
abroad with so much effulgence.* 

During the early part of his residence at Berne, he 
published many excellent essays on various subjects in 
the Helvetic Journal ; particularly a work on the ta- 
lents and erudition of Haller. This grateful tribute, 
to the just merits of his friend and benefactor, he af- 
terwards enlarged into a complete history of his life 
and writings, as a scholar, a philosopher, a physician, 
and a man. 

The health of Haller, which had suffered greatly by 
the severity of study, seemed to decline in proportion 
as his fame increased ; and, obtaining permission to 
leave Gottingen, he repaired to Berne, to try, by the 
advice and assistance of Zimmerman, to restore, if 
possible, his decayed constitution. The benefits he 
experienced in a short time were so great, that he de- 
termined to relinquish his professorship, and to pass 
the remainder of his days in that city. In the family 
of Haller, lived a young ladv, nearly related to him, 
whose maiden name was Mely,and whose husband, M. 
Stek, had been sometime dead. Zimmerman became 
deeply enamored of her charms: he offered her his 
hand in marriage ; and they were united at the altar 
in the bands of mutual affection. 

Soon after his union with this amiable woman, the 
situation of physician to the town of Brugg became 
vacant, which he was invited by the inhabitants to fill ; 
and he accordingly relinquished the pleasures and ad- 
vantages. he enjoyed at Berne and ret rned toth place 
of his nativity, with a view to settle himself there for 
life. His time, however, was not so entirely engrossed 

* Dissertatio Physiologica de irritabilitate quam publice defended 
Joh. Georgius Zimmerman. Goctt. 4to. 1751, 



ZIMMERMAN H 

by the duties of his profession, as to prevent him from 
indulging his mind in the pursuits of literature ; and 
he read almost every work of reputed merit, whether 
of physic, or rtfbra^hilosophy, belles lettres, history, 
voyages, or even novels and romances, which the va- 
rious presses of Europe from time to time produced. 
The novels and romances of England, in particular; 
gave him great delight, m 

But the amusements which Brugg afforded were 
extremely confined: and he fell into a slate of nervous 
langor, or rather into a peevish dejection of spirits, 
neglecting society, and devoting himself almost en- 
tirely to a retired and sedentary life. 

Under these circumstances, this excellent and able 
man passed fourteen years of an uneasy life ; but nei- 
ther his increasing practice, the success of his literary 
pursuits,* the exhortations of his friends, nor the en- 
deavors of his family, were able to remove the melan- 
choly and discontent that preyed continually on his 
mind. After some fruitless efforts to please him, he 
was in the beginning of April, 1768, appointed by the 
interest of Dr. Tissot, and baron Hockstettin, to the 
post of principal physician to the king of Great Bri- 
tain, at Hanover ; and he departed from Brugg, to take 
possession of his new office, on the 4th of July, in the 
same year. Here he was plunged into the deepest 
affliction by the loss of his amiable wife, who after 
many^years of lingering sufferance, and pious resigna- 
tion, expired in his arms, on the 23d of June, 1770; 

* The following is a correct list of his writings, in the order in which 
they appear to have been published : 

1. Dissertatio Inauguralis de Irritabilitate, 4to. Gottingen, 1751 

2. The life of Professor Haller, 8vo. Zurich, 1755. 

3. Thoughts on the earthquake which was felt on the 9th of De 

cember, 1755, in Swisserland, 4to. 1756. 

4. The Subversion of Lisbon, a Poem, 4to. 1776. 

5. Meditations on Solitude, Svo. 1756. 

6. Essay on National Pride, Svo. Zurich, 1764. 

7. Treatise on Experience in Physic, Svo. Zurich, 1764. 
S. Treatise on the Dysentery, Svo. Zurich, 1767. 

9. Essay on Solitude, 4to. 1773. 

10. Essay on Lavator's Phisiognomy. Hanover," 1773. 

11. Essays, consisting of agreeable and instructive Tales, Svo. 1779. 

12. Conversations with the king of Prussia. 

13. Treatise on Frederick the Great, 17S8. 

14. Select views of the Life, Reign and Character of Frederick the 

Great. 
«5. A variety of works published in the Helvetic Journal and in th* 

journals of the Physiological Society at Zurich. 
W. A Work dn Zoology 



12 THE LIFE Of 

an event which he has described in the following work, 
with eloquent tenderness and sensibility. His children 
too, were to him additional causes of the keenest an- 
guish and the deepest distress. His daughter had from 
her earliest infancy, discovered symptoms of consump- 
tion, so strong and inveterate as to defy all the powers 
of medicine, and which, in the summer of 1781, de 
stroyed her life. The character of this amiable girl, 
and the feelings of her afflicted father on this melan- 
choly event, His own pen has very affectingly described 
in the following work. 

But the state and condition of his son was still more 
distressing to his feelings than even the death of his 
beloved daughter. This unhappy youth, who, while 
he was at the university, discovered the finest fancy 
and the soundest understanding, either from a malig- 
nant and inveterate species of scrofula, with which he 
had been periodically tortured from his earliest infancy, 
or from too close an application to study, fell very ear- 
ly in life into a state of bodily infirmity and mental 
langor, which terminated in the month of December, 
1777, in a total derangement of his faculties ; and he 
has now continued, in spite of every endeavor to re- 
store him, a perfect idiot for more than twenty years. 

The domestic comforts of Zimmerman were now 
almost entirely destroyed ; till at length, he fixed upon 
the daughter of M. Berger, the king's physician at 
Lunenbourg, and niece to baron de Berger, as a person 
in every respect qualified to make him happy, and they 
were united to each other in marriage about the begin- 
ning of October, 1782. Zimmerman was nearly thirty 
years older than his bride : but genius and good sense 
are always young : and the similarity of their charac- 
ters obliterated all recollection of disparity of age. 

It was at this period that he composed his great and 
favorite work on solitude, thirty years after the publi- 
cation of his first essay on the subiect. It consists of 
four volumes in quarto : the two first of which were 
published in 1784 ; and the remaining volumes in 1786. 
"A work," says Tissot, "which will always be read 
with as much profit as pleasure, as it contains the most 
sublime conceptions, the greatest sagacity of observa- 
tion, and extreme propriety of application, much abili- 
ty in the choice of examples, and (what I cannot com- 
mend too highly, because I can say nothing that does 
him so much honor, nor give him any praise that would 



ZIMMERMAN. 13 

be more gratifying to his own heart) a constant anxie- 
ty for the interest of religion, with the sacred and so- 
lemn truths of which his mind was most devoutly im- 
pressed." 

The king of Prussia, while he was reviewing his 
troops in Silesia, in the autumn of the year 1785, caught 
a severe cold, which settled on his lungs and in the 
course of nine months brought on symptoms of an ap- 
proaching dropsy. Zimmerman, by two very flattering 
letters of the 6th and 16th of June, 1786, was solicited 
by his majesty to attend him, and he arrived at Potz-* 
dam on the 23d of the same month ; but he immedi- 
ately discovered that his royal patient had but little 
hopes of recovery ; and, after trying the effect of such 
medicines as he thought most likely to afford relief, he 
returned to Hanover on the 11th of July following.* 
But it was not Frederick alone who discovered his abi- 
lities. When in the year 1788, the melancholy state 
of the king of England's health alarmed the affection 
of his subjects, and produced an anxiety throughout 
Europe for his recovery, the government of Hanover 
dispatched Zimmerman to Holland, that he might be 
nearer London, in case his presence there became ne- 
cessary ; and he continued at the Hague until all dan- 
ger was over. 

Zimmerman was the first who had the courage to 
unveil the dangerous principles of the new philoso- 
phers, and to exhibit to the eyes of the German prin- 
ces the risk they ran in neglecting to oppose the pro- 
gress of so formidable a league. He convinced many 
of them, and particularly the emperor Leopold II. that 
the views of these illuminated conspirators were the 
destruction of Christianity, and the subversion of all 
regular government. These exertions, while they con- 
tributed to lessen the danger which threatened his 
adopted country, greatly impaired his health. 

In the month of November, 1794, he was obliged to 
have recourse to strong opiates to procure even a short 
repose: his appetite decreased; his strength failed him; 
and he became so weak and emaciated, that, in Jan- 
uary 1795, he was induced to visit a few particular pa 
tients in his carriage, it was painful to him to write a 
prescription, and he frequently fainted while ascend- 
ing to the room. These symptoms were followed by 

* The king only survived the departure of his physician five weeks 
h& died on the ilia of August^ 1700 

2 



14 THELIFEOP 

a dizziness in his head, which obliged him to relin- 
quish all business. At length the axis of his brain 
gave way, and reduced him to such a state of mental 
imbecility, that he was haunted continually by an idea 
that the enemy was plundering his house, and that he 
and his family were reduced to a state of misery and 
want. His medical friends, particularly Dr. Wich- 
man, by whom he was constantly attended, contribu- 
ted their advice and assistance to restore him to health; 
and conceiving; that a journey and a change of air were 
the best remedies that could be applied, they sent him 
to Eutin, in the duchy of Holstein, where he continued 
three months, and about the month of June, 1795. re- 
turned to Hanover greatly recovered. But the latal 
dart had infixeaytself too deeply to be entirely remov- 
ed ; he soon afterwards relapsed into his former imbe- 
cility, and barely existed in lingering sufferance for 
many months, refusing to take any medicines, and 
scarcely any food: continually harassed and distres- 
sed by the cruel allusion of poverty, which again haun- 
ted his imagination. At certain intervals his mind 
seemed to recover only for the purpose of rendering 
him sensible of his approaching dissolution ; for he fre- 
quently said to his physicians, " My death I perceive 
will be slow and painful ;" ana, about fourteen hours 
before he died, he exclaimed, "Leave me to myself; 
I am dying." At length his emaciated body and ex- 
hausted mind sunk beneath the burden of mortality, 
and he expired without a groan, on the 7th October, 
1795, aged 66 years and ten months. 



SOLITUDE; . 

OR THE 

INFLUENCE OF OCCASIONAL RETIREMENT 

UPON THE 

MIND AND HEART. 

CHAPTER I. 

Introduction, 

Solitude is that intellectual state in which the mind 
voluntarily surrenders itself to its own reflections. 
The philosopher, therefore, who withdraws his atten- 
tion from every external object to the contemplation of 
his own ideas, is not less solitary than he who aban- 
dons society, and resigns himself entirely to the calm 
enjoyments of lonely life. 

The word " solitude" does not necessarily import a 
total retreat from the world and its concerns: the dome 
of domestic society, a rural village, or the library *of a 
learned friend, may respectively become the seat of soli- 
tude, as well as the silent shade of some sequestered 
spot far removed from all connection with mankind. 

A person may be frequently solitary without being 
alone. The haughty baron, proud of his illustrious de- 
scent, is solitary unless he is surrounded by his equals: 
a profound reasoner is solitary at the tables of the wit- 
ty and the gay. The mind may be as abstracted amidst 
a numerous assembly; as much withdrawn from every 
surrounding object ; as retired and concentrated in it- 
salf ; as solitary, in short, as a monk in his cloister, or a 
hermit in his cave. Solitude, indeed, may exist amidst 
the tumultuous intercourse of an agitated city as well 
as in the peaceful shades of rural retirement ; at Lon- 
don and at Paris, as well as on the plains of Thebes and 
the deserts of Nitria. 

The mind, when withdrawn from external objects, 
adopts, freely and etensively, the dictates of its own 
ideas, and implicitly follows the taste, the temperament, 
the inclination, and the genius, of its possessor. Saun- 
tering through the cloisters of the Magdalen convent 



|g INTRODUCTION. 

at Hidelshiem, I could not observe, without a smile, 
an aviary of canary birds, which had been bred in the 
cell of a female devotee. A gentleman of Brabant liv- 
ed five-and-twenty years without ever going out of his 
house, entertaining himself during that long period 
with forming a magnificent cabinet of pictures and 
paintings. Even unfortunate captives, who are doom- 
ed to perpetual imprisonment, may soften the rigors of 
their fate, by resigning themselves, as far as their situ- 
ation will permit, to the ruling passionof their souls. 
Michael Ducret, the Swiss philosopher ,*while he was 
confined in the castle of Aarburg, in the canton of 
Berne, in Swisserland, measured the height of the 
Alps : and while the mind of baron Trenck, during his 
imprisonment at Magdebourg, was with incessant 
anxiety, fabricating projects to effect his escape, gen- 
eral Walrave, the companion of his captivity, content- 
edly passed his time in feeding chickens. 

The human mind, in proportion as it is deprived of 
external resources, sedulously labors to find within 
itself the means of happiness, learns to rely with confi- 
dence on its own exertions, and gains with greater 
certainty the power of being happy. 

A work, therefore, on the subject of solitude, appear- 
ed to me likely to facilitate man in his search after true 
felicity. 

Unworthy, however, as the dissipation and pleasures 
of the world appear to me to be, of the avidity with 
which they are pursued, I equally disapprove of the 
extravagant system which inculcates a total derelic- 
tion of society ; which will be found, when seriously 
examined, to be equally romantic and impracticable. 
To be able to live independent of all assistance, except 
from our own power, is, I acknowledge, a noble effort 
of the human mind ; but it is equally great and digni- 
fied to learn the art of enjoying the comforts of socie- 
ty with happiness to ourselves, and with utility to 
others. 

While, therefore, I exhort my readers to listen to the 
advantages of occasional retirement^ I warn them 
against that dangerous excess into which some of the 
disciples of this philosophy have fallen ; an excess 
equally repugnant to reason and religion. May I hap- 
pily steer through all the dangers with which my sub- 
ject is surrounded ; sacrifice nothing to prejudice ; of- 
fer no violation to truth ; and gain the approbation of 



INTRODUCTION. 17 

the judicious and reflecting ! If affliction shall feel 
one ray of comfort, or melancholy, released from a 
portion of its horrors, raise its down cast head ; if I 
shall convince the lover of rural life, that all the finer 
springs of pleasure dry up and decay in the intense joys 
of crowded cities, and that the warmest emotions of 
the heart become there cold and torpid ; if I shall 
evince the superior pleasures of the country ; how ma- 
ny resources rural life affords against the langors of 
indolence; what purity of sentiment, what peaceful 
repose, what exalted happiness, is inspired by verdant 
meads, and the view of lively flocks quitting their rich 
pastures to seek, with the declining sun, their evening 
folds : how highly the romantic scenery of a wild and 
striking country, interspersed with cottages, the habi- 
tations of a happy, free, contented race of men, elevates 
the soul: how far more interesting to the heart are 
the joyful occupations of rural industry, than the dull 
and tasteless entertainments of a dissipated city ; how 
much more easily, in short, the most excruciating sor- 
rows are pleasingly subdued on the fragrant border of 
a peaceful stream, than in the midst of those treacher- 
ous delights which occupy the courts of kings— all my 
wishes will be accomplished, and my happiness com- 
plete. 

Retirement from the w r orld may prove peculiarly 
beneficial at two periods of life : in youth, to acquire 
the rudiments of useful information, to lay the foun- 
dation of the character intended to be pursued, and to 
obtain that train of thought which is to guide us 
through life ; in age, to cast a retrospective view on 
the course we have run ; to reflect on the events we 
have observed, the vicissitudes we have experienced : 
to enjoy the flowers we have gathered on the way. and 
to congratulate ourselves upon the tempests we have 
survived. Lord Bolingbroke, in his " Idea of a Patriot 
King," says, there is not a more profound nor a finer 
observation in all lord Bacon's works, than the follow- 
ing : " We must choose betimes such virtuous objects 
as are proportioned to the means we have of pursuing 
them, and belong particularly to the stations we are 
in, and the duties of those stations. We must deter- 
mine and fix our minds in such manner upon them, 
that the pursuit of them may become the business, and 
the attainment of them the end of our whole lives. 
Thus we shall imitate the great operations of nature, 
2* 



18 INTRODUCTION. 

and not the feeble, slow, and imperfect operations of 
art. We must not proceed in forming the moral char- 
acter, as a statuary proceeds in forming a statue, who 
works sometimes on the face, sometimes on one part, 
and sometimes on an other ; but we must proceed, ana 
it is in our power to proceed, as nature does in form- 
ing a flower, or any other of her productions ; rudi- 
menta pirtium omnium simul p irit et procincit : she 
throws out altogether, and at once, the whole system 
of every bein^, and trie rudiments of all the parts." 

It is, therefore, more especially to those youthful 
minds, who still remain susceptible of virtuous impres- 
sions, that I here pretend to point out the path which 
leads to true felicity. And if you acknowledge that I 
have enlightened your mind, corrected your manners, 
and tranquillized your heart, I shall congratulate my- 
self on the success of my design, and think my labors 
richly rewarded. 

Balieve me, ail ye amiable youths, from whose minds 
the artifices and gayeties of the world have not yet ob- 
literated the precepts of a virtuous education ; who are 
yet uninfected with its inglorious vanities ; who, still 
ignorant of the tricks and blandishments of seduction, 
have preserved the desire to perform some glorious 
action, and retained the power to accomplish it ; who. 
in the midst of feasting, dancing, and assemblies, feel 
an inclination to escape from their unsatisfactory de- 
lights; solitude vyill afford you a safe asylum. Let 
the voice of experience recommend you to cultivate a 
fondness for domestic pleasures, to incite and fortify 
your souls to noble deeds, to acquire that cool judg- 
ment and intrepid spirit which enables you to form 
correct estimates of the characters of mankind, and of 
the pleasures of society. But to accomplish this high 
end, you must turn your eyes from those trifling and 
insignificant examples which a degenerated race of 
meii affords, and study the illustrious characters of f e 
ancient Greeks, the Romans, and the Modern English. 
In what nation will you find more celebrated instan- 
ces of human greatness ? What people possesses more 
valor, courage, firmness, and knowledge; where do 
the arts and sciences shine with greater splendor, or 
with more useful effect? But do not deceive your- 
selves by a belief that you will acquire the character of 
an Englishman by wearing a cropped head of hair; no, 
you must pluck the roots of vice from your mind, de- 



INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 19 

stroy the seeds of weakness in your bosoms, and imi- 
tate the great examples of heroic virtue which that na- 
tion so frequently affords. It is an ardent love of lib- 
erty, undaunted courage, deep penetration, elevated 
sentiment, and well cultivated understanding, that 
constitute the British character; and not their cropped 
heads, half-boots, and round hats. It is virtue alone, 
and not dress or titles, that can ennoble or adorn the 
human character. Dress is an object too minute and 
trifling wholly to occupy a rational mind ; and an il- 
lustrious descent is only advantageous as it renders 
the real merits of its immediate possessor more con- 
spicuous. Never, however, lose sight of this impor- 
tant truth, that no one can be truly &reat until he has 
gained a knowledge of himself: a Knowledge which 
can only be acquired by occasional retirement. 



CHAPTER II. 

The influence of solitude upon the mind. 

The true value of liberty can only be conceived by 
minds that are free : slaves remain indolently content- 
ed in captivity. Men who have been long tossed upon 
the troubled ocean of life, and have learned by severe 
experience to entertain just notions of the world and 
its concerns, to examine every object with unclouded 
and impartial eyes, to walk erect in the strict and thor- 
ny paths of virtue, and to find their happiness in the 
reflections of an honest mind, alone are free. 

The path of virtue, indeed, is devious, dark and drea- 
ry ; but though it leads the traveller over hills of diffi- 
culty, it at length brings him into the delightful and 
extensive plains of permanent happiness and secure 
repose. , . 

The love of solitude, when cultivated m the morn 
of life, elevates the mind to a noble independence: but 
to acquire the advantage which solitude is capable of 
aff< rding, the mind must not be impelled to it by me- 
lancholy and discontent, but by a real distaste to the 
idle pleasures of the world, a rational contempt for the 
deceitful joys of life, and just apprehensions of being 
C'Truoted and seduced by its insinuating and destruct- 
ive gayetiea 



20 ON THE MIND. 

Many men have acquired and exercised in solitude 
that, transcendent greatness of mind which defies 
events; and, like the majestic cedar, which braves the 
fury of the most violent tempest, have resisted, with 
heroic courage, the severest storms of fate. 

Solitude, indeed, sometimes renders the mind in a 
slight degree arrogant and conceited ; but these effects 
are easily removed by a judicious intercourse with man- 
kind. Misanthropy, contempt of folly, and pride of spi- 
rit, are, in noble minds, changed by the maturity of 
age into dignity of character ; and that fear of the opi- 
nion of the world which awed the weakness and inex- 
perience of youth, is succeeded by firmness, and a high 
disdain of those false notions by which it was dismay- 
ed : the observations once so dreadful lose all their 
stings ; the mind views objects not as they are, but as 
they ought to be ; and, feeling a contempt for vice, 
rises into a noble enthusiasm for virtue, gaining; from 
the conflict a rational experience and a compassionate 
feeling which never decay. 

The science of the heart, indeed, with which youth 
should be familiarized as early as possible, is too fre- 
quently neglected. It removes the asperities and pol- 
ishes the rough surfaces of the mind. This science is 
founded on that noble philosophy which regulates the 
characters of men ; and operating more by love than 
by rigid precept, corrects the cold dictates of reason by 
the warm feelings of the heart; opens to view the dan- 
gers to which they are exposed ; animates the dormant 
faculties of the mind, and prompts them to the prac- 
tice of all the virtues. 

Dion was educated in all the turpitude and servility 
of courts, accustomed to a life of softness and effemi- 
nacy, and, what is still worse, tainted by ostentation, 
luxury, and every species of vicious pleasure ; but no 
sooner did he listen to the divine Plato, and acquire 
thereby a taste for that sublime philosophy which in- 
culcates the practice of virtue, than his whole soul be- 
came deeply enamored of its charms. The same love 
of virtue with which Plato inspired the mind of Dion, 
may be silently, and almost imperceptibly infused by 
every tender mother into the mind of her child. Phi- 
losophy, from the lips of a wise and sensible woman, 
glides quietly, but with strong effect, into the m in a 
through the feelings of the heart. Who is not fond of 
walking, even through the most roueh and difficult 



ON THE PASSIONS. 21 

paths, when conducted by the hand of love ? What 
species of instruction can be more successful than soft 
lessons from a female tongue, dictated by a mind pro- 
found in understanding, and elevated in sentiment, 
where the heart feels all the affection that her precepts 
inspire ? Oh I may every mother, so endowed, be bless- 
ed with a child who delights to listen in private to her 
edifying observations ; who, with a book in his hand, 
loves to seek among the rocks some sequestered spot 
favorable to study : who when walking with his dogs 
and gun, frequently reclines under the friendly shade 
of some majestic tree, and contemplates the great and 
glorious characters which the pages of Plutarch pre- 
sent to his view, instead of toiling through the thickest 
of the surrounding woods hunting for game. 

The wishes of a mother are accomplished when the 
silence and solitude of the forests seize and animate 
the mini of her loved child ; when he begins to feel 
that he has seen sufficiently the pleasures of the world ; 
when he begins to perceive that there are greater ana 
more valued characters than noblemen or esquires, 
than ministers or kings ; characters who enjoy a more 
elevated sense of pleasure than gaming tables and as- 
semblies are capable of affording ; who seek, at every 
interval of leisure, the shades of solitude with raptur- 
ous delight ; whose minds have been inspired with a 
love of literature and philosophy from their earliest in- 
fancy ; whose bosoms have glowed with a love of sci- 
ence through every subsequent period of their lives ; 
and who, amidst the greatest calamities, are capable of 
banishing, by a secret charm, the deepest melancholy 
and most profound dejection. 

The advantages of solitude to a mind that feels a 
real disgust at the tiresome intercourses of society, are 
inconceivable. Freed from ihe world, the veil which 
obscured the intellect suddenly falls, the clouds which 
dimmed the light of reason disappear, the painful bur- 
den which oppressed the soul is alleviated ; we no lon- 
ger wrestle with surrounding perils ; the apprehension 
of danger vanishes; the sense of misfortune becomes 
softened ; the dispensations of Providence no longer 
excite the murmur of discontent; and we enjoy the 
delightful pleasures of a calm, serene and happy mind. 
Patience and resignation follow and reside with a con- 
tented heart ; eve~ry corroding care flies away on the 
wings of gayety ; and on every side agreeable and in~ 



38 INFLUENCE OE SOLITUDE. 

teresting scenes present themselves to our view ; tli3 
brilliant sun sinking behind the loftymountains ting- 
ing their snow-crowned turrets with golden rays ; the 
f jathered choir hastening to seek witnin their mossy 
cells a soft, a silent, and secure repose ; the shrill crow- 
ing of the amorous cock ; the solemn and stately march 
of oxen returning from their daily toil, and tiie grace- 
ful paces of the generous steed. But, amidst the vi- 
cious pleasures of a great metropolis, where sense and 
truth are constantly despised, and integrity and consci- 
ence thrown aside as inconvenient and oppressive, the 
fairest forms of fancy are obscured, and the purest vir- 
tues of the heart corrupted. 

But the first and most incontestable advantage of 
solitude is, that it accustoms the mind to think ; the 
imagination becomes more vivid, and the memory 
more faithful, while the sense remains undisturbed, 
and no external object agitates the soul. Removed far 
from the tiresome tumults of public society, where a 
multitude of heterogeneous objects dance before our 
eyes and fill the mind with incoherent notions, we 
learn to fix our attention to a single subject, and to 
contemplate that alone. An author, whose works I 
could read with pleasure every hour of my life, says, 
"It is the power of attention which, in a great measure 
distinguishes the wise and great from the vulgar and 
trifling herd of men. The latter are accustomed to 
think, or rather to dream, without knowing the subject 
of their thoughts. In their unconnected rovings they 
pursue no end, they follow no track. Every thing floats 
loose and disjointed on the surface of their minds, like 
leaves scattered and blown about on the face of the 
waters." 

The habit of thinking with steadiness and attention 
can only be acquired by avoiding the distraction which 
a multiplicity of objects always create; by turning our 
observation from external things, and seeking a situa- 
tion in which our daily occupations are not perpetually 
shifting their course, and changing their direction. 

Idleness and inattention soon destroy all the advan- 
tages of retirement ; for the most dangerous passions, 
when the mind is not properly employed, rise into fer- 
mentation, and produce a variety of eccentric ideas 
and irregular desires. It is necessary, also, to elevate 
our thoughts above the mean consideration of sensual 
objects ; the unincumbered mind then recalls all that 



ON THE PASSIONS. 23 

it has read : all that has pleased the eye or delighted 
the ear; ana reflecting on every idea which either ob- 
servation, experience, or discourse, has produced, gains 
new information by every reflection, and conveys the 
purest pleasures to the soul. The intellect contem- 
plates all the former scenes of life ; views by anticipa- 
tion those that are yet to come, and blends all ideas of 
past and future in the actual enjoyment of the present 
moment. To keep, however, the mental powers in 
proper tone, it is necessary to direct our attention in- 
variably toward some noble and interesting study. 

It may, perhaps, excite a smile, when I assert, that 
solitude is the only school in which the characters of 
men can be properly developed; but it must be recol- 
lected, that, although the materials of this study must 
be amassed in society, it is in solitude alone that we 
can apply them to their proper use. The world is the 
great scene of our observations; but to apply them with 
propriety to their respective objects is exclusively the 
work of solitude. It is admitted that a knowledge of 
the nature of man is necessary to our happiness ; and 
therefore I cannot conceive how it is possible to call 
those characters malignant and misanthropic, who 
while they continue in the world, endeavor to discover 
even the faults, foibles and imperfections of human 
kind. The pursuit of this species of knowledge, which 
can only be gained by observation, is surely laudable, 
and not deserving- the obloquy that has been cast on it. 
Do I, in my medical character, feel any malignity or 
hatred to the species, when I study the nature, and ex- 
plore the secret causes of those weaknesses and disor- 
ders which are incidental to the human frame 1 When 
I examine the subject with the closest inspection, and. 
point out for the general benefit, I hope, of mankind, 
as well as for my own satisfaction, all the frail and im- 
perfect parts in the anatomy of the human body? 

But a difference is supposed to exist between the ob- 
servations which we are permitted to make upon the 
anatomy of the human body, and those which we as- 
sume respecting the philosophy of the mind. The 
physician, it is said, studies the maladies which are in- 
cidental to the human frame, to apply such remedies 
as particular occasion mav require: but it is contended, 
that the moralist has a different end in view. This dis- 
tinction, however, is certainly without foundation. A 
sensible and feeling philosopher views both the moral 



24 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

and physical defects of his fellow creatures with an 
equal degree of regret. Why do moralists shun man- 
kind, by retiring into solitude, if it be not to avoid the 
contagion of those vices which they perceive so jjrev- 
alent in the world, and which are not observed by those 
who are in the habit of seeing them daily indulged 
without censure or restraint? The mind, without 
doubt feels a considerable degree of pleasure in detect- 
ing the imperfections of human nature ; . and where 
that detection may prove beneficial to mankind, with- 
out doing an injury to any individual, to publish them 
to the world, to point out their qualities, to place them, 
by a luminous description before the eyes of men, is 
in my idea, a pleasure so far from being mischievous, 
that I rather think, and I trust I shall continue to think 
so even in the hour of death, it is the only real mode 
of discovering the machinations of the devil, and de- 
stroying the effects of his work. Solitude, therefore, 
as it tends to excite a disposition to think with effect, 
to direct the attention to proper objects, to strengthen 
observation, and to increase the natural sagacity of the 
mind, is the school in which a true knowledge of the 
human character is most likely to be acquired. 

Bonnet, in an affecting passage of the preface to his 
celebrated work on the Nature of the Soul, relates the 
manner in which solitude rendered even his defect of 
sight advantageous to him. "Solitude," says he, "ne- 
cessarily leads the mind to meditation. The circum- 
stances in which I have hitherto lived, joined to the 
sorrows whi h have attended me for many years, and 
from which I am not yet released, induced me to seek 
in reflection those comforts which my unhappy condi- 
tion rendered necessary ; and my mind is now become 
my constant retreat : from the enjoyments it affords I 
derive pleasures which, like potent charms, dispel all 
my afflictions." At this period the virtuous Bonnet 
was almost blind. Another excellent character, of a 
different kind, who devotes his time to the education 
of youth, Pfeffel, at Colmar, supports himself under the 
affliction of total blindness in a manner equally noble 
and affecting, by a lifeless solitary indeed, but by the 
opportunities of frequent leisure which he employs in 
the study of philosophy, the recreations of poetry, and 
the exercises of humanity. There was formerly in 
Japan a college of blind persons, who, in all probabili- 
ty, were endued with quicker discernment than many 



UPON THE MIND. 25 

members of more enlightened colleges. These sight- 
less^academicians devoted their time to the study of 
history, poetry, and music. The most celebrated traits 
in the annals of their country became the subject of 
their muse ; and the harmony of their verses could 
only be excelled by the melody of their music. In re- 
flecting upon the idleness and dissipation in which a 
number of solitary persons pass their time, we contem- 
plate the conduct of these blind Japanese with the high- 
est pleasure. The mind's eye opened and afforded 
them ample compensation for the loss of the coporeal 
organ. Light, life, and joy, flowed into their minds 
through surrounding darkness, and blessed them with 
high enjoyment of tranquil thought and innocent occu- 
pation. 

Solitude teaches us to think, and thoughts become the 
principal spring of human actions ; for the actions of 
men, it is truly said, are, nothing more than their 
thoughts embodied, and brought into substantial exis- 
tence. The mind, therefore, has only to examine with 
candor and impartiality the idea which it feels the 
greatest inclination to pursue, in order to penetrate and 
expound the mystery of the human character; and he 
who has not been accustomed to self-examination, will 
upon such a scrutiny, frequently discover truths of ex- 
treme importance to his happiness, which the mists 
of worldly delusion had concealed totally from his 
view. 

Liberty and leisure are all that an active mind re- 
quires in solitude. The moment such a character finds 
itself alone, all the energies of his soul put themselves 
into motion, and rise to a height incomparably greater 
than thev could have reached under the impulse of a 
mind clogged and oppressed by the encumbrances of 
society. Even plodding authors, who only endeavor to 
improve the the thoughts of others, and aim not at 
originality for themselves, derive such advantages from 
solitude, as to render them contented with their hum- 
ble labors; but to superior minds, how exquisite are 
the pleasures they feel when solitude inspires the idea 
and facilitates the execution of works of virtue and 
publicbenefit ! works which constantly irritate the pas- 
sions of the foolish, and confound the guilty consciences 
of the wicked. The exuberance of a fine fertile ima- 
gination is chastened by the surrounding tranquility 
of > olitude : all its diverging rays are concentrated to 
o 



26 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

one certain point ; and the mind exalted to such pow- 
erful energy, that whenever it is inclined to strike, the 
blow becomes tremendous and irresistible. Conscious 
of the extent and force of his powers, a character thus 
collected cannot be dismayed by legions of adversaries ; 
and he waits, with judicious circumspection, to render 
sooner or later, complete justice to the enemies of vir- 
tue. The profligacy of the world, where vice usurps 
the seat of greatness, hypocrisy assumes the face of can- 
dor, and prejudice overpowers the voice of truth, must, 
indeed, stinsr his bosom with the keenest sensations of 
mortification and regret; but cast his philosophic eye 
over the disordered scene, he will separate what ought 
to be indulged from what ought not to be endured ; 
and by a happy, well-timed stroke of satire torn his pen, 
will destroy the bloom of vice, disappoint machinations 
of hipocrisv, and expose the the fallacies on which pre- 
judice is founded. 

Truth unfolds her charms in solitude with superior 
splendor. A great and good man ; Dr. Blair, of Edin- 
burgh, says, "The great and the worthy, the pious 
and the virtuous, have ever been addicted to serious re- 
tirement. It is the characteristic of little and frivolous 
minds to be wholly occupied with the vulgar objects 
of life. These fill up their desires, and supply all the 
entertainment which their coarse apprehensions can re- 
lish. But a more refined and enlarged mind leaves 
the world behind it, feels a call for higher pleasures, 
and seeks them in retreat. The man of public spirit has 
recourse to it in order to reform plans for general s-ood ; 
the man of genius in order to dwell on his favorite 
themes ; the philosopher to pursue his discoveries ; and 
the saint to improve himself in grace." 

Numa, the legislator of Rome, while he was only a 
private individual, retired on the death of Tatia, his be- 
loved wife, into the deep forests of Aricia and wander- 
ed in solitary musings through the thickest groves and 
most sequestered shades. Superstition imputed his lone- 
ly propensity, not to disappointment, discontent, or ha- 
tred to mankind, but to a higher cause : a wish silently 
to communicate with some protecting deity. A rumor 
was circulated that the goddess Egeria, captivated by 
his virtues, had united herself to him in thesacred bonds 
of love, and by enlightening his mind, and storing it with 
superior wisdom, had led him to divine felicity. The 
Druids also, who dwelt among the rocks>in the wood** 



UPON THE MIND. 27 

and in the most solitary places, are supposed to have 
instructed the infant nobility of their respective nations 
in wisdom and in eloquence, in the phenomena of na- 
ture, in astronomy, in the precepts of religion, and the 
mysteries of eternity. The profound wisdom thus be- 
stowed on the characters of the Druids, although it 
was, like the story of Numa, the mere effects of 
imagination, discovers with what enthusiasm every 
age and country have revered those venerable charac- 
ters who in the silence of the groves, and in the tran- 
quillity of solitude, have devoted their time and talents 
to the improvement of the human mind, and the re- 
formation of the species. 

Genius frequently brings forth its finest fruit in soli- 
tude, merely by the exertion of its own intrinsic pow- 
ers, unaided by the patronage of the great, the adulation 
of the multitude, or the hope of mercenary reward. 
Fianders, amidst all the horrors of civil discord, produc- 
ed painters as rich in fame as they were poor in circum- 
stances. The celebrated Correggio had so seldom 
been rewarded during his life, that the paltry payment 
often pistoles of German coin, and which he was obli- 
ged to travel as far as Parma, to recieve, created in his 
mini a joy so excessive, that it caused his death. %The 
self-approbation of conscious merit was the only recom- 
pense these great artists recieved ; they painted with 
the hope of immortal fame ; and posterity has done 
them justice. * 

Profound meditation in solitude and silence frequent- 
ly exalts the mind above its natural lone, fires the im- 
agination, and produces the most refined and sublime 
conceptions. The soul then tastes the purest and most 
refined delight, and almost loses the idea of existence 
in the intellectual pleasure it recieves. The mind on 
every motion darts through space into eternity ; and 
raised, in his free enjoyment of its powers by its own 
enthusiasm, strengthens itself in the habitude of con- 
templating the noblest subjects, and of adopting the 
most heroic pursuits. It was in a solitary retreat, 
amidst the shades of a lofty mountain near Byrmont, 
that the foundation of one of the most extraordinary 
achievements of the present age was laid. The king 
of Prussia, while on a visit to Spa, withdrew himseff 
from the company, and walked in silent solitude 
amongst the most sequestered groves of this beautiful 
mountain, then adorned in all the rude luxuriance of 



28 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

nature, and to this day distinguished by the appellation 
of " The Royal Aiountain.* On this uninhabited 
spot, since become the seat of dissipation, the youthful 
monarch, it is said first formed the plan of conquering 
Silesia. 

Solitude teaches with the happiest effect the import- 
ant value of time, of which the indolent, having no 
conception, can form no estimate. A man who is ar- 
dently bent on employment, who is anxious not to 
live entirely in vain, never observes the rapid move- 
ments of a stop watch, the true image of transitory 
life, and most striking emblem of the flight of 
time, without alarm and apprehension. Social in- 
tercourse, when it tends to keep the mind and 
heart in a proper tone, when it contributes to enlarge 
thesphereof knowledge, or to banish corroding care, 
cannot, indeed, be considered a sacrifice of time. 
But where social intercourse, even when attended with 
these happy effects engages all our attention, turns the 
calmness of friendship into violence of love, transforms 
hours into minutes, and drives away all ideas, except 
those which the object of our affection inspires, year 
after year will roll unimproved away. Time properly 
employed never appears tedious j on the contrary, to 
him who is engaged in usefully discharging the duties 
of his station, according to the best of his ability, it 
is light, and pleasantly transitory. 

A certain young prince, by the assistance of a num- 
ber of domestics, seldom employs above five or six min- 
utes in dressing. Of his carriage it would be incorrect 
to say he goes in it ; for it fixes. His table is superb and 
hospitable, but the pleasures of it are short and frugal. 
Princes, indeed, seem disposed to do every thing with 
rapidity. This royal youth who possesses extraordi- 
nary talents, and uncommon dignity of character, 
attends in his own person to every application, and af- 
fords satisfaction and delight in every interview. His 
domestic establishment engages his most scrupulous 
attention ; and he employs seven hours every day with- 
out exception, throughout the year, in reading the best 
English, Italian, French, and German authors. It 
may therefore be truly said, that this prince is well ac- 
quainted with the value of time. 

The hours which a man of the world throws idly 
away, are in solitude disposed of with profitable pleas- 

* Hoenigsberg, 



UPON THE MIND. 29 

tire; and no pleasure can be more profitable than that 
which results from the judicious use of time. Men 
have many duties to perform : he, therefore, who wish- 
es to discharge them honorably, will vigilantly sieze the 
earliest opportunity, if he does not wish that any part of 
the passing moments should be torn like a useless page 
from the book of life. Useful employment stops the 
career of time, and prolongs our existence. To think 
and to work, is to live. Our ideas never flow with 
more rapidity and abundance, or with greater gayety, 
than in those hours which useful labor steals from idle- 
ness and dissipation. To employ our time with eco- 
nomy, we should frequently reflect how many hours es- 
cape from us against our inclination. A celebrated 
English author says, " When we have deducted all 
that is absorbed in sleep, all that is inevitably appro- 
priated to the demands of nature, or irresistably en- 
grossed by the tyranny of custom ; all that is passed in 
regulating the superficial decorations of life, or is giv- 
en up in the reciprocation of civility to the disposal of 
others ; all that is torn from us by the violence of dis- 
ease, or stolen imperceptibility away by lassitude and 
langor ; we shall find that part of our duration very 
small of which we can truly call ourselves masters, or 
which we can spend wholly at our own choice. Many 
of our hours are lost in a rotation of petty cares, in a 
constant recurrence of the same employments, many of 
our provisions for ease or happiness are always exhaust- 
ed by the present day, and a great part of our existence 
serves no other purpose than that of enabling us to en- 
joy the rest. 

Time is never more mispent than while we declaim 
against the want of it ; all our actions are then tinc- 
tured with peevishness. The yoke of life is certainly the 
least oppressive when we carry it with good humor ; 
and in the shades of rural retirement, when we have 
once acquired a resolution to pass our hours with 
economy, sorrowful lamentations on the subject of 
time mispent, and business neglected, never torture the 
mind. 

Solitude, indeed, may prove more dangerous than all 
the dissipation of the world, if the mind be not properly 
employed. Every man, from the monarch on the throne 
to the peasant in the cottage, should have a daily 
task, which he should feel it His duty to perform with- 
out delay. u Carpe duim," says Horace j and this re- 
3* 



30 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

commendation will extend with equal propriety to 
every hour of our lives. 

The voluptuous of every description, the votaries of 
Bacchus and the sons of Anacreon, exhort us to drive 
away corroding care, to promote incessant gaiety, and 
to enjoy the fleeting hours as they pass ; and these pre- 
cepts, when rightly understood, and properly applied. 
are founded in strong sense and sound reason ; but 
they must not te understood or applied in the way 
these sensualists advise ; they must not be consumed 
in drinking and debauchery; but employed in steadily 
advancing toward the accomplishment of the task 
which our respective duties require us to perform. 
"If," says Petrarch, "you feel any inclination to serve 
God, in which consists the highest felicities of our na- 
ture ; if you are disposed to elevate the mind by the 
study of letters, which, next to religion, procures us 
the truest pleasures; if by your sentiments and wri- 
tings, you are anxious to leave behind you something 
that will memorize your name with posterity ; stop the 
rapid progress of time, and prolong the course of this 
uncertain life— fly, ah ; fly, I beseech you, from the 
enjoyment of the world, and pass the few remaining 
days you have to live in.. ..Solitude." 

Solitude refines the taste, by affording the mind 
greater opportunities to call and select the beauties of 
those objects which engage its attention. There it de- 
pends entirely upon ourselves to make choice of those 
employments which afford the highest pleasure ; to 
read those writings, and to encourage those reflec- 
tions which tend mostly to purify the mind, and store it 
with the richest variety of images. The false notions 
which we so easily acquire in the world, by relying up- 
on the sentiments of others, instead of consulting our 
own, are in solitude easily avoided. To be obliged 
constantly to sav, " I dare not think otherwise," is in- 
supportable. Why, alas ! will not men strive to form 
opinions of their own, rather than submit to be guided 
by the arbitrary dictates of others? If a work please 
me, of what importance is it to me whether the beau 
wonde approve of it or not?— What information do I 
receive from you, ye cold and miserable critics ?— Does 
your approbation make me feel whatever is truly noble. 
erreat and srood, with higher relish or more refined 
delight ?— How can I submit to the judgment of men 
who always examine hastily, and generally determine 
wrong ? 






UPON THE MIND. 31 

Men of enlightened minds, who are capable of cor- 
rectly distinguishing beauties from defects, whose 
bosoms feel the highest pleasure from the works of 
genius, and the severest pain from dullness and depra- 
vity, while they admire with enthusiasm, condemn 
with judgment and deliberation j and, retiring from 
the vulvar herd, either alone or in the society of se- 
lected friends, resign themselves to the delights of a 
tranquil intercourse with the illustrious sages of an- 
tiquity, and with those writers who have distinguished 
and adorned succeeding times. 

Solitude, by enlarging the sphere of its information, 
by awakening a more lively curiosity, by relieving fa- 
tigue, and by promoting application, renders the mind 
more active, and multiplies the number of its ideas. A 
man who is well acquainted with all these advantages, 
has said, that, " by silent, solitary reflection, we exer- 
cise and strengthen all the powers of the mind. The 
many obstacles which render it difficult to pursue our 
path disperse and retire, and we return to a busy, social 
life, with more cheerfulness and content. The sphere 
of our understanding becomes enlarged by reflection ; 
we have learned to survey more objects, and to behold 
them more intellectually together ; we carry a clearer 
sight, a juster judgment, and firmer principles with us 
into the world in which we are to live and act ; and 
are then more able, even in the midst of all its distrac- 
tions, to preserve our attention, to think with accuracy, 
to determine with judgment, in a degree proportioned 
to the preparations we have made in the hours of re- 
tirement." Alas ! in the ordinary commerce of the 
w r orld, the curiosity of a rational mind soon decays, 
whilst in solitude it hourly augments. The researches 
of a finite being necessarily proceed by slow degrees. 
The mind links one proposition to another, joins expe- 
rience with observation, and from the discovery of one 
truth proceeds in search of others. The astronomers 
who first observed the course of the planets, little 
imagined how important their discoveries would prove 
to the future interests and happiness of mankind. At- 
tached by the spangled splendor of the firmament, and 
observing that the^stars nightly changed their course, 
curiosity induced them to explore the cause of this 
phenomenon, and led them to pursue the road of sci- 
ence. It is thus that the soul, by silent activity, aug- 
ments its powers j and a contemplative mind advances 



32 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

in knowledge in proportion as it investigates the vari- 
ous causes, the immediate effects, and the remote con- 
sequences of an established truth. Reason, indeed, by 
impeding the wings of the imagination, renders her 
flight less rapid, but it makes the object of attainment 
more sure. Drawn aside by the charms of fancy, the 
mind may construct new worlds ; but they immediately 
burst, like airy bubbles formed of soap and water; 
while reason examines the materials of its projected 
fabric, and uses those only which are durable and 
good. 

" The great art to learn much," says Locke, " is to 
undertake a little at a time. "4 Br. Johnson, the cele- 
brated English writer, has very forcibly observed, that 
" all the performances of human art, at which we look 
with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless 
force of perseverance : it is by this that the quarry be- 
comes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united 
by canals. If a man was to compare the effect of a 
single stroke with the pick-axe ? or of one impression 
of a spade, with the general design and last result, he 
would be overwhelmed with the sense of their dispro- 
portion ; yet those petty operations, incessantly contin- 
ued, in time surmount the greatest difficulties ; and 
mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded by the 
slender force of human beings. It is therefore of the 
utmost importance that those who have any intention 
of deviating from the beaten roads of life, and acquir- 
ing a reputation superior to names hourly swept away 
by time among the refuse of fame, should add to their 
reason and their spirit the power of persisting in their 

Eurposes ; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot 
atter ; and the habit of vanquishing obstinate resist- 
ance by obstinate attacks." 

It is activity of mind that ^ives life to the most 
dreary desert, converts the solitary cell into a social 
world, gives immortal fame to genius, and produces 
master-pieces of ingenuity to the artist. The mind 
feels a pleasure in the exercise of its powers propor- 
tioned to the difficulties it meets with, and the obsta- 
cles it has to surmount. When Apelles was reproached 
for having painted so few pictures, and for the inces- 
sant anxiety with which he retouched his works, he 
contented himself with this observation, " I paint for 
posterity." 

The inactivity of monastic solitude, the sterile tran- 



UPON THE MIND. 33 

quillity of the cloister, are ill suited to those who, after 
a serious preparation in retirement, and an assiduous 
examination of their own powers, feel a capacity and 
inclination to perform great and good actions for the 
benefit of mankind. Princes cannot live the lives of 
monks ; statesmen are no longer sought for in monas- 
teries and convents ; generals are no longer chosen 
from the members of the church. Petrarch^ therefore, 
very pertinently observes, "that solitude must not be 
inactive, nor leisure uselessly employed. A character 
indolent, slothful, languid, and detached from the af- 
fairs of life, must infallibly become melancholy and 
miserable. From such a being no good can be ex- 
pected ; he eannot pursue any useful science, or possess 
the faculties of a great man." 

The rich and luxurious may claim an exclusive right 
to those pleasures which are capable of being purchased 
by pelf, in which the mind has no enjoyment, and which 
only afford a temporary relief to langor, by steeping 
the senses in forgetful ness; but in the precious plea- 
sures of intellect, so easily accessible by all mankind, 
the great have no exclusive privilege ; for such enjoy- 
ments are only to be procured by our own industry, by 
serious reflection, profound thought, and deep research: 
exertions which open hidden qualities to the mind, ana 
lead it to the knowledge of truth, and to the contem- 
plation of our physical and moral nature. 

A Swiss preacher has in a German pulpit said, " The 
streams of mental pleasures, of which all men may 
equally partake, flow from one to the other ; and that 
of which we have most frequently tasted, loses neither 
its flavor nor its virtues, but frequently acquires new 
charms, and conveys additional pleasure the oftener it 
is tasted. The subjects of these pleasures are as un- 
bounded as the reign of truth, as extensive as the 
world, as unlimited as the divine perfections. Incor- 
poreal pleasures, therefore, are much more durable 
than all others ; they neither disappear with the light 
of the day, change with the external form of things, 
nor descend with our bodies to the tomb ; but continue 
with us while we exist; accompany us under all the 
vicissitudes not only of our natural life, but of that 
which is to come ; secure us in the darkness of the 
mVht, and compensate for all the miseries we are 
doomed to suffer." 

Great and exalted minds, therefore, have always, 



34 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

even in the bustle of gaiety, or amidst the more agita- 
ted career of high ambition, preserved a taste for intel- 
lectual pleasures. Engaged in affairs of the most im- 
portant consequence, notwithstanding the variety of 
objects by which their attention was distracted, they 
were still faithful to the muses, and fondly devoted 
their minds to works of genius. They disregarded the 
false notion, that reading and knowledge are useless 
to great men ; and frequently condescended, without a 
blush, to become writers themselves. 

Philip of Macedon, having invited Dionysius the 
younger to dine with him at Corinth, attempted to de- 
ride tiie father of his royal guest, because he nad blend- 
ed the characters of prince and poet, and had employed 
his leisure in writing odes and tragedies. " How could 
the king find leisure," said Philip, " to write those tri- 
fles ?" " In those hours," answered Dionysius, " which 
you and I spend in drunkenness and debauchery." 

Alexander who was passionately fond of reading and 
whilst the world resounded with his victories, whilst 
blood and carnage marked his progress, whilst he 
dragged captive monarchs at his chariot wheels, and 
marched with increasing ardor over smoking towns 
and desolated provinces in search of new objects of 
victory, felt during certain intervals, the langors of 
unemployed time; and lamenting that Asia afforded 
no books to amuse his leisure, he wrote to Harpalus to 
send him the works of Philistus, the tragedies of Eu- 
r pides, Sophocles, ^Eschylus, and the dithyrambics of 
1 halestes. 

Brutus, the avenger of the violated liberties of Rome, 
while serving in the army under Pompey, employ ea 
among books all the moments he could spare from the 
duties~of his station: and was even thus employed du- 
ring the awful night which preceded the celebrated 
battle of Pharsalia, by wiiich the fate of the empire was 
decided. Oppressed by the excessive heat of the day, 
and by the preparatory arrangement of the army, 
wmich was encamped in the middle of summer on a 
marshy plain, he sought relief from the bath, and re- 
tired to his tent, where, whilst others were locked in 
the arms of sleep, or contemplating the event of the 
ensuing day, he employed himself until the morning 
dawned, in drawing a plan from the History of Poly- 
I ius. * 

Cicero, who was more sensible of mental pleasures 



CPON THE MIND. s 

than any other character, says, in his oration for tht 
poet Archias, " Why should I be ashamed to acknow- 
ledge pleasures like these, since for so many years the 
enjoyment of them has never prevented me lrcm reliev- 
ing the wants of others, or deprived me of the courage 
to attack vice and defend virtue? Who can justly 
blame, who can censure me, if, while others are pursu- 
ing the views of interest, gazing at festal shows and 
idfe ceremonies, exploring new pleasures, engaged in 
midnight revels, in the distraction of gaming, ihe mad- 
ness of intemperance, neither reposing the body, nor 
recreating the mind, I spend the recollective hours in 
a pleasing review of my past life, in dedicating my 
time to learning and the muses?" * 

Pliny the elder, full of the same spirit devoted every 
moment of his life to learning. A person read to him 
during his meals: and he never travelled without a 
book and a portable writing-desk by his side. He made 
extracts from every work he read ; and scarcely con- 
ceivinsrTumself alive while his faculties were absorbed 
in sleep, endeavored by his diligence, to double the du- 
ration of his existence. 

Pliny the younger, read upon all occasions, whether 
riding, walking, or sitting^whenever a moment's lei- 
sure afforded him the opportunity ; but he made it an 
invariable rule to prefer the discharge of the duties of 
his station to those occupations which he followed only 
as amusement. It was this disposition which so strong- 
ly inclined him to solitude and retirement. "Shall I 
never," exclaimed he in moments of vexation, "break 
the fetters by which I am restrained? Are they indis- 
soluble? Alas! I have no hope of being gratified; 
everyday brings new torments. No sooner is one du- 
t performed than another succeeds. The chains of 
business become every hour more weighty and exten- 
sive." 

The mind of Petrarch was always gloomy and de- 
jected, except when he was reading, writing, or resign- 
ed to the agreeable illusions of poetry, upon the banks 
of some inspiring stream, among the romantic rocks 
and mountains, or the flower^namelled vallies*of the 
Alps. To avoid the loss of time during his travels, he 
constantly wrote at every inn where he stopped for re- 
freshment. One of liis friends, the bishop of Cavaillon, 
being alarmed lest the intense application with which 
he studied at Vaueluge-mjght totally ruin a constitution 



36 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

already much impaired, requested of him one day the 
key of his library. Petrarch immediately gave it him 
without asking the reason of his request ; when the 
good bishop, instantly locking up his books and wri- 
ting-desk, said, "Petrarch, I hereby interdict you from 
the use of pen, ink, and paper, for the space of ten 
days." The sentence was severe ; but the offender sup- 
pressed his feelings, and submitted to his fate. The 
first day of his exile from his favorite pursuits was te- 
dious, the second accompanied with incessant head- 
ach, and the third brought on symptoms of an approach- 
ing fever. The bishop, observing his indisposition, 
kindly returned him the key, and restored him to his 
health. % 

The late earl of Chatham, on his entering into the 
world, was a cornet in a troop of horse dragoons. The 
regiment was quartered in a small village in England. 
The duties of his station were the first objects of his 
attention ; but the moment these were discharged, he 
retired into solitude during the remainder of the day, 
and devoted his mind to the study of history. Subject 
from his infancy to an hereditary gout, he endeavored 
to eradicate it by regularity and abstinence ; and per- 
haps it was the feeble state "of his health which first led 
him into retirement; but, however that may be, it was 
certainly in retirement that he had laid the foundation 
of that glory which he afterwards acquired. Charac- 
ters of this description, it may be said, are no longer to 
be found ; but in my opinion both the idea and asser- 
tion would be erroneous. Was the earl of Chatham 
inferior in greatness to a Roman ? And will his son, 
Avho already, in the earliest stage of manhood, thunders 
forth his eloquence in the senate, like Demosthenes, 
and captivates like Pericles the hearts of all who hear 
him: who is now, even in the five-and-twentieth year 
of his age, dreaded abroad, and beloved at home, as 
prime minister of the British empire; ever think, or 
act under any circumstances with less greatness, than 
his illustrious father? What men have been, man may 
always be. Europe now produces characters as great 
as ever adorned a throne or commanded a field. Wis- 
dom and virtue may exist, by proper cultivation, 
as well in public as in private life; and become as per- 
fect in a crowded palace as in a solitary cottage. 

Solitude will ultimately render the mind superior to 
all the vicissitudes and miseries of life. The man 



ttPON THE MIND* 3t 

Whose bosom neither riches* nor luxury,~nor grandeur 
can render happy, may, with a book in his hand, forget 
all his torments under the friendly shade of every tree, 
and experience pleasures as infinite as they are varied, 
as pure as they are lasting, as lively as they are unfa- 
ding, and as compatible with every public duty as they 
are contributary to private happiness. The highest 
public duty, indeed, is that of employing our faculties 
for the benefit of mankind, and can no where be so ad- 
vantageously discharged as in solitude. To acquire a 
true notion of men and things, and boldly to announce 
our Opinions to the world, is an indispensible obligation 
on every individual. The press is the channel through 
which writers diffuse the light of truth among the peo- 
ple, and display its radiance, to the eyes of the great. 
Good writers inspire the mind with courage to think 
for itself; and the free communication of sentiments 
contributes to the improvement and imperfection of 
human reason. It is this love of liberty that leads men 
into solitude, where they may throw off the chains by 
which they are fettered in the world. It is this dispo- 
sition to be free, that makes the man who thinks in so- 
litude, boldly speak a language which, in the corrupted 
intercourse of society, he would not have dared openly 
to hazard. Courage is the companion of solitude. The 
man who does not fear to seek his comforts in the 
peaceful shades of retirement, looks with firmness on 
the pride and insolence of the great, and tears from the 
face of despotism the mask by which it is concealed. 

His mind, enriched by knowedge, may defy the 
frowns of fortune, and see unmoved the various vicis- 
situdes of life. When Demetrius had captured the city 
of Megara. and the property of the inhabitants had 
been entirely pillaged by the soldiers, he recollected 
that Stilpo,* a philosopher of great reputation, who 
sought only the retirement and tranquility of a studious 
life, was among the number. Having sent for him, 
Demetrius asked him if he had lost any thing during 
the pillage? "No," replied the philosopher, "my pro- 
perty is safe, for it exists only in my mindP 

Solitude encourages the disclosure of those senti- 
ments and feelings which the manners of the world 
compel us to conceal. The mind there unburthens it- 
self with ease and freedom. The pen, indeed, is not 
always taken up because we are alone ; but if we are 
inclined to write, we ought to be alone. To cultivate 
4 



38 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

philosophy, or court the muse with effect, the mind 
must be free from all embarrassment. The incessant 
cries of children, or the frequent intrusion of servants 
with messages of ceremony and cards of compliment, 
distract attention. An author, whether walking in the 
open air, seated in his closet, reclined under the shade 
of a spreading tree, or stretched upon a sofa, must be 
free to follow all the impulses of his mind, and indulge 
every bent and turn of his genius. To compose with 
success, he must feel an irresistible inclination, and 
be able to indulge his sentiments and emotions with- 
out obstacle or restraint. There are, indeed, minds 
possessed of a divine inspiration, which is capable of 
subduing every difficulty, and bearing down all oppo- 
, sition : and an author should suspend his work until 
he feels this secret call within his bosom, and watch 
for those propitious moments when the mind pours 
forth its ideas with energy, and the heart feels the sub- 
ject with increasing Warmth ; for 

11 ...... . Nature's kindling breath 

Must fire the chosen genius ;' Nature's hand 
Must string his nerves and imp his eagle wings 
Impatient of the painful steep, to soar 
High as the summit} there to breath at large 
Etherial air, with bards and sages old, 
Immortal sons of praise " 

Petrarch felt this sacred impulse when he tore him- 
self from Avignon, the most vicious and corrupted 
city of the age, to which the pope had recently trans- 
ferred the papal chair; and although still young, noble, 
ardent, honored by his holiness, respected by princes, 
courted by cardinals, he voluntarily quitted the splen- 
did tumults of this brilliant court, and retired to the 
celebrated solitude of Vaucluse, at the distance of six 
leagues from Avignon, with only one servant to attend 
him, and no other possession than an humble cottage 
and its surrounding garden. Charmed with the natu- 
ral beauties of this rural retreat, he adorned it with an 
excellent library, and dwelt, for many years, in wise 
tranquillity and rational repose, employing his leisure 
in completing and polishing his works : and producing 
more original compositions during this period than at 
any other of his life. But, although he here devoted 
much time and attention to his writings, it was long 
before he could be persuaded to make them public. 



UPON THE MIND. 39 

Virgil calls the leisure he enjoyed at Naples, ignoble 
and obscure; but it was during this leisure that he 
wrote the Georgics, the most perfect of all his works, 
and which evince, in almost every line, that he wrote 
for immortality. 

> The suffrage of posterity, indeed, is a noble expec- 
tation, which every excellent and great writer cher- 
ishes with enthusiasm. An inferior mind contents 
itself with a more humble recompense, and sometimes 
obtains its due reward. But writers both great and 
good, must withdraw from the interruptions of socie- 
ty, and seeking the silence of the groves, and the shades, 
retire into their own minds : for every thing they per- 
form, all that they produce, is the effect of solitude. 
To accomplish a work capable of existing through fu- 
ture ages, or deserving the approbation of contempo- 
rary sages, the love of solitude must entirely occupy 
their souls ; for there the mind reviews and arranges, 
with the happiest effect, all the ideas and impressions 
it has gained in its observations in the world: it is 
there alone that the dart of satire can be truly sharpen- 
ed against inveterate prejudices and infatuated opin- 
ions ; it is there alone that the vices and follies of man- 
kind present themselves accurately to the view of the 
moralist, and excite his ardent endeavors to correct 
and reform them. The hope of immortality is certain- 
ly the highest with which a great writer can possibly 
flatter his mind ; but he must possess the comprehen- 
sive genius of a Bacon : think with the acuteness of 
Voltaire : compose with the ease and elegance of Ros- 
seau ; and, like them, produce master-pieces worthy 
of posterity in order to' obtain it ; 

The love of fame, as well in*the cottage as on the 
throne, or in the camp, stimulates the mind to the per- 
formance of those actions which are most likely to 
survive mortality and live beyond the grave, and which 
when achieved, render the evening of life as brilliant 
as its morning. " The praises (says Plutarch,) bestow- 
ed upon great and exalted minds, only spur on and 
rouse their emulation : like a rapid torrent, the glory 
which they have already acquired, hurries them irre- 
sistibly on to every thing that is great and noble. — 
They never consider themselves sufficiently reward- 
ed. Their present actions are only pledges of what 
may be expected from them ; and they would blush 
not to live faithful to their glory, and to render it still 
more illustrious by the noblest actions r 



40 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

The ear which would be deaf to servile adulation 
and insipid compliment, will listen with pleasure to the 
enthusiasm with which Cicero exclaims, "Why should 
we dissemble what it is impossible for us to conceal? 
Why should we not be proud of confessing candidly 
that we all aspire to fame ? The love of praise influ- 
ences ail mankind, and the greatest minds are the 
most susceptible or it. The philosophers who most 
preach up a contempt for fame, prefix their names to 
their works: and the very performances in which 
they deny ostentation, are evident proofs of their vani- 
ty and love of praise. Virtue requires no other reward 
for all the toils and dangers to which she exposes her- 
self than that of fame and glory. Take away this flat- 
tering reward, and what would remain in the narrow 
career of life to prompt her exertions ? If the mind 
could not launch into the prospect of futurity, or the 
operations of the soul were to be limited to the space 
that bounds those of the body, she would not weak' 
en herself by constant fatigues, nor weary herself with 
continual watchings and anxieties; she would not 
think even life itself worthy of a struggle : but there 
lives in the breast of every good man a principle which 
unceasingly prompts and inspirits him to the pursuit 
of a fame beyond the present hour ; a fame not com- 
mensurate to our mortal existence, but co~extensive 
with the latest posterity. Can we, who every day 
expose ourselves to dangers for our country, ana have 
never passed one moment of our lives without anxie^ 
ty or trouble, meanly think that all consciousness shall 
be buried with us in the grave ? If the greatest men 
have been careful to preserve their busts and their 
statues, those images, not of their minds, but of their 
bodies, ought we not rather to transmit to posterity the 
resemblance of our wisdom and virtue ? For my part, 
at least, I acknowledge, that in all my actions I con* 
ceived that I was disseminating and transmitting my 
fame to the remotest corners and the latest ages of the 
world. Whether, therefore, my consciousness of this 
shall cease in the grave, or, as some have thought 
shall survive as a property of the soul, is of little im- 
portance. Of one thing I am certain, that at this in- 
stant I feel from the reflection a flattering hope and 
a delightful sensation." 

This is the true enthusiasm with which preceptors 
should inspire the bosoms of their young pupils. Who,? 



ON THE MIND. 41 

ever shall be happy enough to light up this gene- 
rous flame, and increase it by constant application, will 
see the object of his care voluntarily relinquish the per- 
nicious pleasures of youth, enter with virtuous dignity 
on the stage of life, and add, by the performance of 
the noblest actions, new lustre to science, and brighter 
rays to glory. The desire of extending our fame by 
noble deeds, and of increasing the good opinion of 
mankind by a dignified conduct and real greatness of 
soul, confers advantages which neither illustrious birth, 
elevated rank, nor great fortune can bestow ; and which, 
even on the throne, are only to be acquired by a life of 
exemplary virtue, and an anxious attention to the suf- 
frages of posterity. * 

There is no character, indeed, more likely to acquire 
future fame than the satirist, who dares to point out 
and condemn the follies, trie prejudices, and the grow- 
in ;r vices of the age, in strong and nervous language. 
Works of this description, however they may fail to 
reform the prevailing manners of the times, will ope- 
rate on succeedingjrenerations, and extend their influ- 
ence and reputation to the latest posterity. True great- 
ness operates long after envy and malice have pursu- 
ed the modest merit which produced it to* the grave. 
O, Lavater ! those base corrupted souls who only shine 
a moment, and are forever extinguished, will be for- 
gotten, while the memory of thy name is carefully che- 
rished, and thy virtues fondly beloved : thy foibles will 
be no longer remembered ; and the qualities which dis- 
tinguished and adorned thy character will alone be re- 
viewed. The rich variety of thy language, the judg- 
ment with which thou hail boldly intended and crea- 
ted new expressions, the nervous brevity of thy style, 
and thy striking picture of human manners, will, as 
the author of " The Characters of German Poets and 
Prose writers" has predicted, extend the fame of thy 
" Fragments upon Physiognomy" to the remotest pos- 
terity. The accusation that Lavater, who was capa- 
ble of developing such sublime truths, and of creating 
almost a new language, gave credit to the juggles of 
Gesner, will then be forgot ; and he will enjoy the life 
after death, which Cicero seemed to hope for with so 
much enthusiasm. 

Solitude, indeed, affords a pleasure to an author of 
which no one can deprive him, and which far exceeds 
all the honors of the world. He not only anticipates 
4* 



42 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

the effect his work will produce, but while it advances 
towards completion, feels the delicious enjoyment of 
those hours of serenity and composure which his la- 
bors procure. What continued and tranquil delight 
flows from this successive composition ! Sorrows fly 
from this elegant occupation. O ! I would not ex- 
change one single hour of such tranquillity and con- 
tent, for all those flattering illusions of public fame 
with which the mind of Tully was so incessantly in- 
toxicated. A difficulty surmounted, a happy moment 
seized, a proposition elucidated, a sentence neatly and 
elegantly turned, or a thought happily expressed, are 
salutary and healing balms, counter-poisons to melan- 
choly, and belong exclusively to a wise and well-form- 
ed solitude. 

To enjoy himself without being dependant on the 
aid of others, to devote to employments not perhaps en- 
tirely useless, those hours which sorrow and chagrin 
would otherwise steal from the sum of life is the great 
advantage of an author ; and with this advantage alone 
J am perfectly contented. 

Solitude not only elevates the mind, but adds new 
strength to its powers. 4 The man who has not cour- 
age to conquer the prejudices and despise the manners 
pi the world, whose greatest dread is the imputation 
of singularity, who forms his opinion and regulates 
his conduct upon the judgment and actions of others, 
will certainly never possess sufficient strength of mind 
to devote himself to voluntary solitude ; which, it has 
been well observed, is as necessary to give a just, solid, 
firm, and forcible tone to our thoughts, as an inter- 
course with the world is to give them richness, bril- 
liancy, and just appropriation. 

The mind, employed on noble and interesting sub* 
jects, disdains the indolence that stains the vacant 
breast. Enjoying freedom and tranquillity, the soul 
feels the extent of its energies with greater sensibility, 
and displays powers which it was before unconscious 
of possessing : the faculties sharpen ; the mind becomes 
more clear, luminous, and extensive ; the perception 
more distinct ; the whole intellectual system, in short, 
exacts more from itself in the leisure of solitude than 
in the bustle of the world. But to produce these happy 
effects, solitude must not be reduced to a state of tran^ 
quil idleness and inactive ease, of mental numbness, or 
eensual stupor : it is not sufficient to be continually ga* 



ON THE MIND. 43 

zing out of a window with a vacant mind, or gravely 
walking up and down the study in a ragged robe-de- 
chambre and worn-out slippers ; for the mere exterior 
of tranquillity cannot elevate or increase the activity of 
the soul, which must feel an eager desire to roam at 
large, before it can gain that delightful liberty and lei- 
sure, which at the same instant improves the understan- 
ding and corrects the imagination. The mind, indeed, 
is enabled, by the strength it acquires under the shades 
of retirement, to attack prejudices, and combat errors, 
with the unfailing prowess of the most athletic cham- 
pion ; for the more it examines into the nature of things, 
the closer it brings them to its view, and exposes, with 
unerring clearness, all the latent properties they pos- 
sess. An intrepid and reflecting mind, when retired 
within itself, seizes with rapture on truth the moment 
it is discovered : looks round with a smile of pity and 
contempt on those who despise its charms ; hears 
without dismay the invectives which envy and malice 
let loose against him ; and nobly disdains the hue and 
cry which the ignorant multitude raise against him, 
the moment he elevates his hand to dart against them 
one of the strongest and invincible truths ne has dis- 
covered in his retreat. 

Solitude diminishes the variety of those troublesome 
passions which disturb the tranquillity of the human 
mind, by combining and forming a number of them in- 
to one great desire ; for although it may certainly be- 
come dangerous to the passions, it may also, thanks to 
the dispensations of Providence ! produce very salu- 
tary effects. If it disorder the mind, it is capable of ef- 
fecting its cure. It extracts the various propensities 
of the human heart, and unites them into one. By 
this process we feel and learn not only the nature, but 
the extent, of all the passions which rise up against us 
like the angry waves of a disordered ocean, to over- 
whelm us m the abyss ; but philosophy flies to our aid, 
divides their force, and., if we do not yield to them an 
easy victory, by neglecting all opposition to their at- 
tacks, virtue and self-denial bring gigantic reinforce- 
ments to our assistance, and ensure success. Virtue 
and resolution, in short, are equal to every conflict, the 
instant we learn that one passion is to be conquered by 
another. 

The mind, exalted by the high and dignified senti- 
ments it acquires by lonely meditation, becomes proud 



44 INFLUENGE OP SOLITUDE. 

of its superiority, withdraws itself from every base 
and ignoble object, and avoids, with heroic virtue, the 
effect of dangerous society. A noble mind observes the 
sons of worldly pleasure mingling in scenes of riot and 
debauchery without being seduced ; hears it in vain 
echoed from every side, that incontinence is among the 
first propensities of the human heart, and that every 
young man of fashion and spirit must as necessarily 
indulge his appetite for the fair sex, as the calls of hun- 
ger or of sleep. Such a mind perceives that libertinism 
and dissipation not only enervate youth, and render the 
feelings callous to the charms of virtue and principles 
of honesty, but that it destroys every manly resolution, 
renders the heart timid, decreases exertion, damps the 
generous warmth and fine enthusiasm of the soul, and 
in the end, totally annihilates all its powers. The youth, 
therefore, who seriously wishes to sustain an honorable 
character on the theatre of life, must forever renounce 
the habits of indolence and luxury; and when he no 
longer impairs his intellectual faculties by debauchery, 
or renders it necessary to attempt the renovation of his 
languid and debilitated constitution by excess of wine 
and luxurious living, he will soon be relieved from the 
necessity of consuming whole mornings on horseback 
in a vain search of that health from change of scene 
which temperence and exercise would immediately 
bestow. 

All men without exception, have something to learn ; 
whatever may be the distinguished rank which they 
hold in society, they can never be truly great but by 
their personal merit. The more the faculties of the 
mind are exercised in the tranquillity of retirement, the 
more conspicuous they appear; and should the pleas- 
ures of debauchery be the ruling passion, learn, O young 
man ! that nothing will so easily subdue it as an increas- 
ing emulation in great and virtuous actions, a hatred of 
idleness and frivolity, the study of the sciences, a fre- 
quent communication with your own heart, and that 
high and dignified spirit which views with disdain 
every thing that is vile and contemptible. This gener- 
ous and high disdain of vice, this fond and ardent love 
of virtue, discloses itself in retirement with dignity and 
greatness, where the passion of high achievement 
operates with greater force than in any other situa- 
tion. The same passion which carried Alexander 
into Asia, confined Diogenes to his tub. Heraclius 



UPON THE MIND. 45 

descended from his throne to devote his mind to the 
search of truth. He who wishes to render his know 
ledge useful to mankind, must first study the world ; 
not too intensely, or for any long duration, or with any 
fondness for its follies : for the follies of the world 
enervate and destroy the vigor of the mind. Cesar 
tore himself from the embraces of Cleopatra, and be- 
came the master of the world ; while Antony took her 
as a mistress to his bosom, sunk indolently into her 
arms, and by his effeminacy lost not only his life, but 
the government of the Roman empire. 

Solitude, indeed, inspires the mind with notions too 
refined and exalted for the level of common life. But 
a fondness for high conceptions, and a lively, ardent 
disposition, discovers to the votaries of solitude, the 
possibility of supporting themselves on heights which 
would derange the intellects of ordinary men. Every 
object that surrounds the solitary man enlarges the 
faculties of his mind, improves the feelings of his heart, 
elevates him above the condition of the species, and 
inspires his soul with views of immortality. Every day 
in the life of a man of the world seems as if he expect- 
ed it would be the last of his existence. Solitude am- 
ply compensates for every privation, while the devotee 
of worldly pleasures conceives himself lost if he is de- 
prived of visiting a fashionable assembly, of attending 
a favorite club, of seeing a new play, of patronizing a 
celebrated boxer, or of admiring some foreign novelty 
which the hand-bills of the day have announced. 




tions, 
he, 

the pictures' it presents to' my view, my mind enjoys a 
a rich repast from the representation of great and vir- 
tuous characters. If the actions of men produce some 
instances of vice, corruption, and dishonesty ; I endea- 
vor, nevertheless, to remove the impression, or to de- 
feat its effect. My mind withdraws itself from the 
scene, and free from every ignoble passion, I attach 
myself to those high examples of virtue which are so 
agreeable and satisfactory, and which accord so com- 
pletely with the genuine feelings of our nature." 

The soul, winged by these sublime images, flies from 
the earth, mounts as it proceeds, and casts an eye of 
disdain on those surrounding clouds which, as they 
gravitate to the earth, would impede its flight. At a 



46 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

certain height the faculties of the mind expand, and 
the fibres of the heart dilate. It is, indeed, in the pow- 
er of every man to perform more than he undertakes ; 
and therefore it is both wise and praiseworthy to at- 
tempt every thing that is morally within our reach. 
How many dormant ideas may be awakened by exer- 
tion ! and then, what a variety of early impressions, 
which were seemingly forgot, revive, and present 
themselves to our pens ! We may always accomplish 
more than we conceive, provided passion fans the 
flame which the imagination has lighted ; for life is 
insupportable when unanimated by the soft affections 
of the heart. 

Solitude leads the mind to those sources from 
whence the grandest conceptions are most likely to 
flow. But alas ! it is not in the power of every per- 
son to seize the advantages solitude bestows. Were 
every noble mind sensible of the extensive information, 
of the lofty and sublime ideas, of the exquisitely fine 
feelings which result from occasional retirement, they 
would frequently quit the world, even in the earliest 
periods of youth, to taste the sweets of solitude, and lay 
the foundation for a wise old age. 

In conducting the low and petty affairs of life, com- 
mon sense is certainly a more useful quality than even 
genius itself. Genius, indeed, or that fine enthusiasm 
which carries the mind into its highest sphere, is clog- 
ged and impeded in its ascent by the ordinary occupa- 
tions of the world, and seldom regains its natural liber- 
ty and pristine vigor except in solitude. Minds anxious 
to reach the regions of philosophy and science have, 
indeed, no other means of rescuing themselves from 
the burden and thraldom of worldly affairs. Sickened 
and disgusted with the ridicule and obloquy they ex- 
perience from an ignorant and presumptuous multitude, 
their faculties become, as it were, extinct, and mental 
exertion dies away ; for the desire of fame, that great 
incentive to intellectual achievement, cannot long exist 
where merit is no longer rewarded by praise. But, re- 
move such minds from the oppression of ignorance, of 
envy, of hatred, of malice ; let them enjoy liberty and 
leisure ; and with the assistance of pen, ink, and paper, 
they will soon take an ample revenge, and their pro- 
ductions excite the admiration of the world. How ma- 
ny excellent understandings remain in obscurity, mere- 
ly on account of the possessor being condemned to fol- 



tJPON THE MINE, 4? 

low worldly employments, in which little or no use of 
the mind is required, and which, for that reason, ought 
to be exclusively bestowed on the ignorant and illite- 
rate vulgar! But this circumstance can seldom hap- 
pen in solitude, where the mental faculties, enjoying 
their natural freedom, and roaming unconfined through 
all parts and properties of nature, fix on those pursuits 
most congenial to their powers, and most likely to car- 
ry them into their proper sphere. 

The unwelcome reception which solitary men fre- 
quently meet with in the world, becomes, when prop- 
erly considered, a source of enviable happiness ; for to 
be universally beloved, would prove a great misfortune 
to him who is meditating in tranquillity the perform- 
ance of some great and important work : every one 
would then be anxious to visit him, to solicit his visits 
in return, and to press for his attendance on all parties. 
But though philosophers are fortunately not in general 
the most favored guests in fashionable societies, they 
have the satisfaction to recollect, that it is not ordinary 
or common characters against whom the public hatred 
and disgust are excited. There is always something 
great in that man against whom the world exclaims, at 
whom every one throws a stone, and on whose charac- 
ter all attempt to fix a thousand crimes, without being 
able to prove one. The fate of a man of genius, who 
lives retired and unknown, is certainly more enviable : 
for he will then enjoy the pleasure of undisturbed re- 
tirement ; and naturally imagining the multitude to be 
ignorant of his character, will not be surprised that 
they should continually misinterpret and pervert both 
his words and actions; or that the efforts of his friends 
to undeceive the public with respect to his merit should 
prove abortive. 

Such was, in the mistaken view of the world, the 
fate of the celebrated count Schaumbourg Lippe, better 
known by the appellation of count de Buckebourg. 
No character, throughout Germany, was ever more 
traduced, or so little understood ; and yet he was wor- 
thy of being enrolled among the highest names his age 
or country ever produced. When I first became ac- 
quainted with him, lie lived in almost total privacy, 
quite retired from the world, on a small paternal farm, 
in the management of which consisted all his pleasure 
and employment. His exterior appearance was I con- 
fess, rather forbidding, and prevented superficial obser 



4S INFLUENCE $F SOLITUDE 

vers from perceiving the extraordinary endowments of 
his brilliant and capacious mind. The count de Lacy* 
formerly ambassador from the court of Madrid to Pe- 
tersburgh, related to me during his residence at Hano- 
ver, that he led the Spanish army against the Portu- 
fuese at the time they were commanded by the coimt 
e Buckebourg ; and that when the officers discovered 
him as they were reconnoitering the enemy with their 
glasses, the singularity of his appearance struck them 
so forcibly, that they immediately exclaimed, "Are 
the Portuguese commanded by Don Quixote?" The 
ambassador, however, who possessed a liberal mind* 
did justice in the highest terms, to the merit and good 
conduct of Buckebourg in Portugal ; and praised, with 
enthusiastic admiration, the goodness of his mind, and 
the greatness of his character. Viewed at a distance, 
his appearance was certainly romantic ; and his heroic 
countenance, his flowing hair, his tall and meagre 
figure, and particularly the extraordinary length of his 
visage, might, in truth, recal some idea of the celebra- 
ted knight of La Maneha : but, on a closer view, both 
his person and his manners dispelled the idea ; for his 
features, full of fire and animation, announced the ele- 
vation, sagacity, penetration, kindness, virtue, and se- 
renity of his .soul ; and the most sublime and heroic 
sentiments were as familiar and natural to his mind, 
as they were to the noblest characters of Greece ana 
Rome. 

The count was born in London, and possessed a dis- 
position as whimsical as it was extraordinary. The 
anecdotes concerning him, which I heard from his re- 
lation, a German prince, are perhaps not generally 
known. Fond of contending with the English in every 
thing, he laid a wager that ne would ride a horse from 
London to Edinburg backwards, that is, with the 
horse's head toward Edinburg, and the count's face 
toward London : and in this manner he actually rode 
through several counties in England, he travelled 
through the greater part of that kingdom on foot in 
the disguise of a common beggar. Being informed 
that part of the current of the Danube, above Regens- 
berg, was so -strong and rapid, that no one dared to 
swim across it ; he made the attempt, and ventured 
so far that he nearly lost his life. A great statesman 
and profound philosopher at Hanover related to me. 
that during the war in which the count commanded 



UPON THE MIND. 40 

the artillery in the army of prince Ferdinand of Bruns- 
wick against the French, he one day invited a number 
of Hanoverian officers to dine with him in his tent. 
While the company were in the highest state of festive 
mirth and gayety, a succession of cannon balls passed 
directly over the head of the tent. " The French can- 
not be far off!" exclaimed the officers. " Oh ! I assure 
you," replied the count, " they are not near us f and 
he begged the gentlemen would make themselves per- 
fectlyleasy, resume their seats, and finish their dinner. 
Soon afterwards a cannon ball carried away the top of 
the tent, when the officers again rose precipitately 
from their seats, exclaiming, "The enemy are here !" 
" No, no," replied the count, "the enemy are not here: 
therefore I must request, gentlemen, that you will 
place yourselves at the table, and sit still, for you may- 
rely on my word." The firing recommenced and the 
balls flew about in the same direction: the officers, 
however, remained fixed to their seats; and while they 
ate and drank in seeming tranquillity, whispered to each 
other their surmises and conjectures on this singular 
entertainment. At length the count, rising from his 
seat addressed the company in these words : ' " gentle- 
men, I was willing to convince you how well I can re- 
ly upon the officers of my artillery. I ordered them to 
Are, during the time we continued at dinner, at the 
pinnacle of the tent ; and you have observed with what 
punctuality they obeyed my orders." 

Characteristic traits of a man anxious to innure him- 
self and those about him to arduous and difficult ex- 
ploits will not be useless or unentertaining to curious 
and speculative minds. Being one day in company 
with the count at fort Wilhelmstein, by the side of a 
magazine of gunpowder, which he had placed in the 
room immediately under that in which he slept, I observ- 
ed to him, that I should not be able to sleep very content- 
edly there during some of the hot nights of summer. The 
count, however, convinced me, though I do not now 
recollect by what means, that the greatest danger and 
no danger^ are one and the same thing. When I first 
saw this extraordinary man, which was in the compa- 
ny of two officers, the one English the other Portu- 
guese, he entertained me for two hours upon the phy- 
siology of Haller, whose works he knew by heart. The 
ensuing morning he insisted on my accompanying him 
in a little boat, which he rowed himself, to fort Wilheln)- 
5 



50 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

stein, built under his direction in the middle of the 
water, from plans, which he showed me of his own 
drawing. One Sunday, on the great parade at Pyr- 
mont, surrounded by a vast concourse of men and wo- 
men occupied in music, dancing, and gallantries, he 
entertained me during the course of two hours on the 
same spot, and with as much serenity if we had been 
alone, by detailing the various controversies respecting 
the existence of God, pointing out their defective parts 
and convincing me that he surpassed every writer in 
his knowledge of the subject. To prevent my escaping 
from this lecture, he held me fast the whole time by 
one of the buttons of my coat. At his country seat at 
Buckebourg, he showed me a large folio volume, in his 
own hand-writing, upon "The Art of defending a 
small town against a great force. 5 ' The work was com- 
pletely finished and intended as a present to the king 
of Portugal. There were many passages in it, which 
the count did me the favor to read relating to Swisser- 
landj a country and people which he considered as in- 
vincible ; pointing out to me not only all the important 
places they might occupy against an enemy, but dis- 
covering passes before unknown, and through which 
even a cat would scarce be able to crawl. I do not be- 
lieve that any thing was ever writen of higher impor- 
tance to the interests of my country than' this work ; 
for it contains satisfactory answers to every objection 
that ever has or can be made. My friend M. Moyse 
Mendelsohm, to whom the count read the preface to 
this work while he resided at Pyrmont, considered it 
as a master-piece of fine style and sound reasoning ; 
for the count, when he pleased, wrote the French lan- 
guage with nearly as much elegance and purity as 
Voltaire: while in the German he was labored, per- 
plexed, and diffuse. I must, however, add this in his 
his praise, that, on his return from Portugal, he stu- 
died for many years under two of the most acute mas- 
ters in Germany : first, Abbt ; and afterwards Herder. 
Many persons who, from a closer intimacy and deeper 
penetration, have had greater opportunities of obser- 
ving the conduct and character of this truly great and 
extraordinary man, relate of him a variety of anec- 
dotes equally instructive and entertaining. I shall 
only add one observation more respecting his charac- 
ter, availing myself of the words of Shakspeare ; the 
count Guilaume de Schaumbourg Lippe 



UPON THE MIND. 51 

" carries no dagger. 

He has a lean and hungry look ; 

but he's not dangerous : 

he reads much : 

He is a great observer : and he looks 

Quite thro' the deeds of men. He loves no plays 

he hears no music ; 

Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort, 
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit, 
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing." 

Such was the character, always misunderstood, of, 
this solitary man ; and such a character might fairly 
indulge a contemptuous smile, on perceiving the mis- 
taken sneers of an ignorant multitude. But what 
must be the shame and confusion of the partial judges 
of mankind, when they behold the monument which 
the great Mendelsohm has raised to his memory ; and 
the faithful history of his life and manners which a 
young author is about to publish at Hanover ; the pro- 
found sentiments, the elegant style, the truth, and the 
sincerity of which will be discovered and acknowledged 
by impartial posterity ? 

The men who, as I have frequently observed, are dis- 
posed to ridicule this illustrious character on account 
of his long visage, his flowing hair, his enormous hat, 
or his little sword, might be pardoned, if, like him, 
they were philosophers or heroes. The mind of the 
count, however, was too exalted to be moved by their 
insulting taunts, and he never smiled upon the world, 
or upon men, either with spleen or with contempt. 
Feeling no hatred, indulging no misanthropy, his 
looks beamed kindness on all around him ; and he en- 
joyed with dignified composure the tranquillity of his 
rural retreat in the middle of a thick forest, either alone 
or in the company of a fond and virtuous wife, whose 
death so sensibly afflicted even his firm and constant 
mind, that it brought him almost to an untimely grave. 
The people of Athens laughed at Themistocles, and 
openly reviled him even in the streets, because he was 
ignorant of the manners of the world, the ton of good 
company, and that accomplishment which is called 
good breeding. He retorted, however, upon these ig- 
norant railers with the keenest asperity: "It is true," 
said he, " I never play upon the lute ; but I know how 
to raise a small and inconsiderable city to greatness 
and to glory." 

Solitude and philosophy may inspire sentiments 



52 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

which appear ludicrous to the eye of worldly folly, 
but they banish all light and insignificant ideas, and 
prepare the mind for the grandest and most sublime 
conceptions. Those who are in the habit of studying 
great and exalted characters, of cultivating refined and 
elevated sentiments, unavoidably contract a singulari- 
ty of manners which may furnish ample materials for 
ridicule. Romantic characters always view things dif- 
ferently from what they really are or can be ; and the 
habit of invariably contemplating the sublime and 
beautiful, renders them, in the eyes of the weak and 
wicked, insipid and unsupportable. Men of this dispo- 
sition always acquire a high and dignified demeanor, 
which shocks the feelings of the vulgar ; but it is not 
on that- account the less meritorious. Certain Indian 
philosophers annually quitted their solitude to visit 
the palace of their sovereign, where each of them, in 
his turn, delivered his advice upon the government of 
the state, and upon the changes and limitations which 
might be made in the laws ; but he who three succes- 
sive times communicated false or unimportant obser- 
vations, lost for one year, the privilege of appearing in 
the presence-chamber. This practice is well calculated 
to prevent the mind from growing romantic : but there 
are many philosophers of a different description, who, 
if they had the same opportunity, would not meet with 
better success. 

Plotinus requested the emperor Gallienus to confer 
on him a small city in Campania, and the territory ap- 
pendant to it, promising to retire to it with his friends 
and followers, and to realise in the government of it 
the Republic of Plato. It happened then, however, as 
it frequently happens now in many courts, to philoso- 
phers much less chimerical than Plotinus ; the states- 
men laughed at the proposal, and told the emperor that 
the philosopher was a fool, in whose mind even experi- 
ence had produced no effect. 

The history of the greatness and virtues of the an- 
cients operate in solitude with the happiest effect. 
Sparks of that bright flame which warmed the bosoms 
of the great and good, frequently kindled unexpected 
fires. A lady in the country, whose health was im- 
paired by nervous affections, was advised to read with 
attention the history of the Greek and Roman empires. 
At the expiration of three months she wrote to me in 
the following terras : " You have inspired my mind 



UPON THE MIND. 63 

with a veneration for the virtues of the ancients. 
What are the buzzing race of the present day, when 
compared with those noble characters ? History here- 
tofore was not my favorite study : but now I live only 
in its pages. While I read of the transactions of 
Greece and Rome, I wish to become an actor in the 
scenes. It has not only opened to me an inexhaustible 
source of pleasure, but it has restored me to health. I 
could not have believed that my library contained so 
inestimable a. treasure : my books will now prove more 
valuable to me than all the fortune I possess ; in the 
course of six months you will no longer be troubled 
with my complaints. Plutarch is more delightful to 
me than the charms of dress, the triumphs of coquetry, 
or the sentimental effusions which lovers address to 
those mistresses who are inclined to be all heart ; and 
with whom satan plays tricks of love with the same 
address as a dilletante plays tricks of music on the vio- 
lin." This lady, who is really learned, no longer fills 
her letters with the transactions of her kitchen and 
poultry yard ; she has recovered her health ; and will 
experience hereafter, I conjecture, as much pleasure 
among her hens and chickens, as she did before from 
the pages of Plutarch. 

But although the immediate effects of such writings 
cannot be constantly perceived, except in solitude, or in 
the society of select friends, yet they may remotely be 
productive of the happiest consequences. The mind of 
a man of genius, during his solitary walks, is crowded 
with a variety of ideas, which, on being disclosed, 
would appear ridiculous to the common herd of man- 
kind: a period, however, arrives, at which they lead 
men to the performance of actions worthy of immor- 
tality. The national songs composed by that ardent 
genius Lavater, appeared at a moment when the re- 
public was in a declining state, and the temper of the 
times unfavorable to their reception. The Schintzuach 
society, by whose persuasion they had been written, 
had given some offence to the French ambassador; 
and from that time all the measures which the mem- 
bers adopted were decried with the most factious viru- 
lence in every quarter. Even the great Haller, who 
had been refused admission, considering them as disci- 
ples of Rousseau, whom he hated ; and as enemies to 
orthodoxy, which he loved; pointed his epigrams 
against them in every letter I received from him ; and 
5* 



64 INFLUENCE OF SOLITtWE 

the committee for the reformation of literature at Zurich 
expressly prohibited the publication of these excellent 
lvric compositions, on the curious pretence, that it was 
dangerous and improper to stir up a dunghill. No poet 
of Greece, however, ever wrote with 'more fire and 
force in favor of his country than Lavater did in favor 
of the liberties of Swisserland. I have heard children 
chaunt these songs with patriotic enthusiasm ; and seen 
the finest eyes filled with tears of rapture while their 
ears listened to the singers. Joy glowed in the breasts 
of the Swiss peasants to whom they were sung : their 
muscles swelled, and the blood inflamed their cheeks. 
Fathers have, within my own knowledge, carried their 
infant children to the chapel of the celebrated William 
Tell, to ioin in full chorus the song which Lavater 
composed upon the merits of that great man. I have 
myself made the rocks re-echo to my voice, by singing 
these songs to the music which the feelings of my heart 
composed for them while wandering over the fields, 
and climbing among the famous mountains where 
those heroes, the ancestors of our race, signalized them- 
selves by their immortal valor. I fancied that I saw 
them still armed with their knotted clubs, breaking to 
pieces the crowned helmets of Germany ; and although 
inferior in numbers, forcing the proud nobility to seek 
their safety by a precipitate and ignominious flight. 
These, it may be said, are romantic notions, and can 
only please solitary and recluse men, who see things 
differently from the rest of the world. But great ideas 
sometimes now make their way in spite of the most ob- 
stinate opposition, and operating, particularly in repub- 
lics, by insensible degrees, sow the seeds of "those prin- 
ciples and true opinions, which, as they arrive to matu- 
rity, prove so efficacious in times of political contest 
and public commotion. 

Solitude, therefore, by instilling high sentiments of 
human nature, and heroic resolutions in defence of its 
just priviliges, unites all the qualities w r hich are neces- 
sary to raise the soul and foitify the character, and 
forms an ample shield against the shafts of envy, ha- 
tred or malice. Resolved to think and to act, upon 
every occasion in opposition to the sentiments of 
narrow minds, the solitary man attends to all the vari- 
ous opinions he meets with, but is astonished at none. 
Without -being ungrateful for the just and rational es- 
teem his intimate friends bestow upon him ; remember- 



UPON THE MIND. 55 

ing, too, that friends, always partial, and inclined to 
judge too favorably, frequently, like enemies, suffer 
their feelings to carry them too far ; he boldly calls upon 
the public voice to announce his character to the world 
at large : displays his just pretensions before this impar- 
tial tribunal, and demands that justice which is due. 

But solitude, although it exalts the sentiments, is 
generally conceived tolrender the mind unfit for busi- 
ness : this, however, is, in my opinion, a great mistake. 
To avoid tottering through the walks of public duty, it 
must be of great utility to have acquired a firm step, 
by exercising the mind in solitude on those subjects 
which are likely to occur in public life. The love of 
truth is best preserved in solitude, and virtue there ac- 
quires greater consistency : but I confess truth is not 
always convenient in business nor the rigid exercise of 
virtue propitious to wordly success. 

The great and the good however, of every clime, re- 
vere the simplicity of manners, and the singleness of 
heart, which solitude produces. It was these inestima- 
ble qualities which during the fury of the war between 
England and France, obtained the philosophic Jean An- 
dre de Luc the reception he met with at the court of Ver- 
sailles ; and inspired the breast of the virtuous, the im- 
mortal de Vergennes with the desire to reclaim, by the 
mild precepts of a philosopher, the refractory citizens 
of Geneva, which all his remonstrances, as prime min- 
ister of France, had been unable to effect. De Luc, at 
the request of Vergennes made the attempt, but failed 
of success ; and France, as it is well known, was 
obliged to send an army to subdue the Genevese. It 
was upon his favorite mountains that this amiable phi- 
losopher acquired that simplicity of manners, which he 
still preserves amidst all the luxuries and seductions of 
London; where he endures with firmness all the 
wants, refuses all the indulgences, and subdues all the 
desires of social life. » While he resided at Hanover, I 
only remarked one single instance of luxury in which 
he indulged himself; when any thing vexed his mind, 
he chewed a small morsel of sugar, of which he al- 
ways carried a small supply in his pocket. 

Solitude not only creates simplicity of manners, but 
prepares and strengthens the faculties for the toils of 
busy life. Fostered in the bosom of retirement, the 
mind becomes more active in the world and its con- 
cerns, and retires again into tranquillity to repose it- 



56 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

self, and prepare for new conflicts. Pericles, Phocion, 
and Epaminondas, laid the foundation of all their great- 
ness in solitude, and acquired there rudiments, which 
all the language of the schools cannot teach — the rudi- 
ments of their future lives and actions. Pericles, while 
preparing his mind for any important object, never ap- 
peared in public, but immediately refrained from feas- 
ting, assemblies, and every species of entertainment ; 
ana during the whole time that he administered the af- 
fairs of the republic, he only went once to sup with a 
friend, and left him at an early hour. Phocion imme- 
diately resigned himself to the study of philosophy : 
not from the ostentatious motive of being called a wise 
man, but to enable himself to conduct the business of 
the state with greater resolution and effect. Epami- 
nondas, who had passed his whole life in the delights 
of literature, and in the improvement of his mind, as- 
tonished the Thebans by the military skill and dex- 
terity which he all at once displayed at the battles ot 
Mantinea and Leuctra, in the first of which he rescued 
his friend Pelopidas : but it was owing to the frugal 
use he made of his time, to the attention with which he 
devoted his mind to every pursuit he adopted, and to 
that solitude which his relinquishment of every public 
employment afforded him. His countrymen, however, 
forced him to abandon his retreat, gave him the abso- 
lute command of the army; and by his military skill, 
he saved the republic. 

Petrarch^also a character I never contemplate but 
with increasing sensibility, formed his mind, and ren- 
dered it capable of transacting the most complicated 
political affairs, by the habit he acquired in solitude. 
He was, indeed, what persons frequently become in so- 
litude, choleric, satirical, and petulant,/ and has been 
severely reproached with having drawn the manners of 
his age with too harsh and sombrous a pencil, particu- 
larly the scenes of infamy which were transacted at 
the court of Avignon, under the pontificate of Clement 
VI. ; but he was a perfect master of thejiuman heart, 
knew how to manage the passions with uncommon 
dexterity, and to turn them directly to his purposes. 
The abbe de Sades, the best historian of his life, says, 
" he is scarcely known, except as a tender and elegant 
poet, who loved with ardor, and sung, in all the nar- 
mony of verse, the charms of his mistress." But was 
this in reality the whole of his character ?— Certainly 



UPON THE MIND. 57 

not. Literature, long buried in the ruins of barbarity, 
owes the highest obligations to his pen ; he rescued 
some of the finest works of antiquity from dust and rot- 
tenness $ and many of those precious treasures of learn- 
ing, which have since contributed to delight and in- 
struct mankind, were discovered by his industry, cor- 
rected by his learning and sagacity, and multiplied in 
accurate copies at his expense. He was the great re- 
storer of elegant writing and true taste ; and by his 
own compositions, equal to any that ancient Rome, pre- 
vious to its subjugation, produced, purified the public 
mind, reformed the manners of the age, and extirpated 
the prejudices of the times. Pursuing his studies with 
unremitting firmness to the hour of his death, his last 
work surpassed all that had preceded it. But he was 
not only a tender lover, an elegant poet, and a correct 
and classical historian, but an able statesman also, to 
whom the most celebrated sovereigns of his age con- 
fided every difficult negotiation, and consulted in their 
most important concerns. He possessed, in the four- 
teenth century, a degree of fame, credit, and influ- 
ence, which no man of the present day, however learn- 
ed, has ever acquired. Three popes, an emperor, a so- 
vereign of France, a king of Naples, a crowd of car- 
dinals, the greatest princes, and the most illustrious 
nobility of Italy, cultivated his friendship, and solici- 
ted his correspondence. In the several capacities of 
statesman, minister, and ambassador, he was employed 
in transacting the greatest affairs, and by that means 
was enabled to acquire and disclose the most useful 
and important truths. These high * advantages he 
owed entirly to solitude, with the nature of which as 
he was better acquainted than any other person, so he 
cherished it with greater fondness, and resounded its 
praise with higher energy ; and at length preferred his 
leisure and liberty to all the enjoyments of the world. 
Love, to which he had consecrated the prime of life, 
appeared, indeed, for along time, to enervate his mind; 
but suddenly abandoning the soft and effeminate style 
in which he breathed his sighs at Laura's feet, he ad- 
dressed kings, emperors, and popes, with manly bold- 
ness, and with that confidence which splendid talents 
and a high reputation always inspires. In an elegant 
oration, worthy of Demosthenes and Cicero, he endea- 
vored to compose the jarring interests of Italy ) and ex- 
horted the contending powers to destroy with their 



58 



INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 



confederated arms, the barbarians, those common ene- 
mies of their country, who were ravaging its very bo- 
som, and preying on its vitals. The enterprises of Ri- 
enzi, who seemed like an agent sent from heaven to 
restore the decayed metropolis of the Roman empire 
to its former splendor, were suggested, encouraged, di- 
rected, and supported by his abilities. A timid empe- 
ror was roused by his eloquence to invade Italy, and 
induced to seize upon the reins of government, as suc- 
cessor to the Cesars. The pope, by his advice, remov- 
ed the holy chair, which had been transported to the 
borders of the Rhine, and replaced it on the banks of 
the Tiber ; and at a moment even when he confessed, 
in one of his letters, that his mind was distracted with 
vexation, his heart torn with love, and his whole soul 
disgusted with men and measures. Pope Clement VI, 
confided to his negotiation an affair of great difficulty 
at the court of Naples, in which he succeeded to the 
highest satisfaction of his employer. His residence at 
courts, indeed, had rendered him ambitious, busy, and 
enterprising ; and he candidly acknowledged, that he 
felt a pleasure on perceiving a hermit, accustomed to 
dwell only in woods, and to saunter over plains, run- 
ning through the magnificent palaces of cardinals with 
a crowd of courtiers in his suite. When John Viscon- 
ti, archbishop and prince of Milan, and sovereign of 
Lombardy, who united the finest talents with ambition 
so insatiable, that it threatened to swallow up all Italy, 
had the happiness to fix Petrarch in his interests, by in- 
ducing him to accept of a seat in his council, the friends 
of the philosopher whispered one among another, 
" This stern republican who breathed no sentiments 
but those of liberty and independence ; this untamed 
bull, who roared so loud at the slightest shadow of 
the yoke ; who could endure no fetters but those of 
love, and who even felt those too heavy : who has re- 
fused the first offices at the court of Rome, because he 
disdained to wear golden chains ; has at length sub- 
mitted to be shackled by the tyrant of Italy ; and this 
great apostlej)f solitude, who could no longer live ex- 
cept in the tranquillity of the groves, now contentedly 
resides amidst the tumults of Milan."' " My friends,'' 
replied Petrarch, " have reason to arraign my conduct. 
Man has not a greater enemy than himself. I acted 
aarainst my taste and inclination. Alas ! through the 
%yIiq\g course of our lives, we do those things which 



tJPON THE MIND. 59 

we ought not to have done, and leave undone what 
most we wish to do." But Petrarch might have told 
his friends, "I was willing to convince you how much 
a mind, long exercised in solitude, can perform when 
engaged in the business of the world ; how much a 
previous retirement enables a man to transact the af- 
fairs of public life with ease, firmness, dignity and 
effect." • 

The courage which is necessary to combat the pre- 
judices of the multitude, is only to be acquired by a con- 
tempt oTthe frivolous transactions of the world, and, 
of course is seldom possessed, except by solitary men. 
Worldly pursuits, so far from adding strengh to the 
mind, only weaken it ; in like manner as any particu- 
lar enjoyment too frequently repeated, dulls the edge 
of the appetite for every pleasure. How often do the 
best contrived and most excellent schemes fail, mere- 
ly for want of sufficient courage to surmount the diffi- 
culty which attend their execution !•— How many hap- 
py thoughts have been stifled in their birth, from an 
apprehension that they were too bold to be indulged ! 

An idea has prevailed, that truth cah only be freely 
and boldly spoken under a republican form of govern- 
ment ; but this idea is certainly without foundation. 
It is true, that in aristocracies, as well as under a more 
open form of government, where a single demagogue 
unfortunately possesses the sovereign power, common 
sense is too frequently construed into public offence. 
Where this absurdity exists, the mind must be timid, 
and the people in consequence deprived of their liberty. 
In a monarchy every offence is punished by the sword 
of justice; but in a republic, punishments are inflicted 
by prejudices, passions, and state necessity. The first 
maxim which, under a republican fcrm of government, 
parents endeavor to instil into the minds of their chil- 
dren, is, not to make enemies; and I remember, 
when I was very young, replying to this sage counsel, 
" My dear mother, do you not know that he who has 
no enemies is a poor man ?" In a republic the cit- 
izens are under the authority and jealous observation 
of a multitude of sovereigns ; while in a monarchy the 
reigning prince is the only man whom his subjects are 
bound to obey. The idea of living under the control 
of a number of masters intimidates the mind ; whereas 
love and confidence in one alone, raises the spirits and 
renders the people happy. 



60 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

But in all countries, and under every' form of gov* 
eminent, the rational man, who renounces the useless 
conversation of the world, who lives a retired life, and 
who, independently of all that he sees, of all that he 
hears, forms his notions in tranquillity, by an inter- 
course with the heroes of Greece, of Rome, and of 
Great Britain, will acquire a steady and uniform cha- 
racter, obtain a noble style of thinking, and rise supe- 
rior to every vulgar prejudice. 

These are the observations I had to make respecting 
the influence of occasional solitude upon the mind. 
They disclose my real sentiments on this subject: 
many of them, per naps, undigested, and many more cer- 
tainly not well expressed. But I shall console myself 
for these defects, if this chapter affords only a glimpse 
of those advantages, which , I am persuaded, a rational 
solitude is capable of affording to the minds and man- 
ners of men; and if that which follows shall excite a 
lively sensation of the true, noble, and elevated plea- 
sures retirement is capable of producing: by a tranquil 
and feeling contemplation of nature, and by an exqui- 
site sensibility for every thing that is good and fair 



CHAPTER III. 

Influence of Solitude upon the Heart. 

The highest happiness which is capable of being en- 
joyed in this world, consists in peace o£ mind. The 
wise mortal who renounces the tumultsof the world, 
restrains his desires and inclinations, resigns himself 
to the dispensations of his Creator, and looks with an 
eye of pity on the frailties of his fellow creatures ,• 
whose greatest pleasure is to listen among the rocks to 
the soft murmurs of a cascade ; to inhale, as he walks 
along the plains, the feTreshing breezes of the zephyrs ; 
and to dwell in the surrounding woods, on the melodi- 
ous accents of the aerial choristers ; may, by the sim- 
ple feelings of his heart, obtain this invaluable blessing. 

To taste the charms of retirement, it is not necessary 
to divest the heart of its emotions.xThe world maybe 
renounced without renouncing the enjoyment which 
the tear of sensibility is capable of affording. But to 
render tB§ heart susceptible of this felicity, the mind 



UPON THfi HEART. 61 

must be able to admire with equal pleasure nature in 
her sublimest beauties, and in the modest flower that 
decks the vallies ; to enjoy at the same time that har- 
monious combination of parts which expands the soul, 
and those detached portions "of the whole which pre- 
sent the softest and most agreeable images to the 
mind. Nor are these enjoyments exclusively reserved 
for those strong and energetic bosoms whose sensations 
are as lively as they are delicate, and in which, for that 
reason, the good and the bad make the same impres- 
sion : the purest happiness, the most enchanting tran- 
quillity, are also granted to men of colder feelings, and 
whose imaginations are less bold and lively; but to 
such characters the portraits must not be so highly col- 
ored, nor the tints so sharp f for as the bad strikes them 
less, so also they are less susceptible of livelier impres- 
sions. 

The hi^h enjoyments which the heart feels in soli- 
tude are derived from the imagination. The touching 
aspect of delightful natule, the variegatedverdure of 
the forests, the resounding echoesj>f an impetuous tor- 
rent, the soft agitation of the foliage, the warblings of 
the tenants of the groves, the beautiful scenery of a 
rich and extensive country, and all those objects which 
compose an agreeablejandscape, take such complete 
possession of the soul, and so entirely absorb our facul- 
ties, that the sentiments of the mind are by the charms 
of the imagination instantly converted into sensations 
of the heart, and the softest emotions give birth to the 
most virtuous and worthy sentiments. But to enable 
the imagination thus to render every object fascinating 
and delightful, it must act with freedom, and dwell 
amidst surrounding tranquillity. Oh ! how easy is it 
to renounce noisy pleasures and tumultuous assemblies 
for the enjoyment of that philosophic melancholy which 
solitude inspires ! 

Religious awe and rapturous delight are alternately 
excited by the deep gloom of forests, by the tremendous 
height of broken rocks, aiTd by the multiplicity of ma- 
jestic and subline^ objects which are combined within 
the site of a delightful and extensive prospect. The 
most painful sensations immediately yield to the seri- 
ous, soft, and solitary reveries to which the surround- 
ing tranquillity invites the mind ; while the vast and 
awful silence of nature exhibits the happy contrast be- 
tween simplicity and grandeur; and as our feelings be 
6 



8*2 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

come more exquisite, so our admiration becomes more 
intense, and our pleasures more complete. 

I had been for many years familiar with all that 
nature is capable of producing in her sublimest works, 
when 1 first saw a garden m the vicinity of Hanover, 
and another upon a much larger scale at Marienwer- 
der, about three miles distant, cultivated in the English 
style of rural ornament. I was not then apprized of 
the extent of that art which sports with the most un- 
grateful soil, and, by a new species of creation, converts 
barren mountains into fertile fields and smiling land- 
scapes. This magic art makes an astonishing impres- 
sion on the mind, and captivates every heart, not insen- 
sible to the delightful charms of cultivated nature. I 
cannot recollect without shedding tears of gratitude 
and joy, a single day of this early part of my residence 
in Hanover, when, torn from the bosom of my coun- 
try, from the embraces of my family, and from every 
thing that I held dear in life, my mind, on entering the 
little garden of my deceased friend, M. de Hinuber, 
near Hanover, immediately revived, and I forgot, for 
the moment, both my country and my grief. The 
charm was new to me. I had no conception that it 
was possible, upon so small a plot of ground, to intro- 
duce at once the enchanting variety and the noble sim- 
plicity of nature. But I was then convinced, that her 
aspect alone is sufficient, at first view, to heal the woun- 
ded feelings of the heart, to fill the bosom with the 
highest luxury, and to create those sentiments in the 
mind, which can, of all others, render life desirable. 

This new re- union of art and nature, which was not 
invented in China, but in England, is founded upon 
a rational and refined taste for the beauties of nature, 
confirmed by experience, and by the sentiments which 
a chaste fancy reflects on a feeling heart. 

But in the gardens I have before mentioned, every 
point of view raises the soul to heaven, and affords the 
mind sublime delight ; every bank presents a new and 
varied scene, which fills the heart with joy : nor, while 
I feel the sensation which such scenes inspire, will I 
suffer my delight to be diminished by discussing whe- 
ther the arrangement might have been made in a bet- 
ter way, or permit the dull rules of cold and senseless 
masters to destroy my pleasure. Scenes of serenity, 
whether created by tasteful art, or by the cunning 
hand of nature, always bestow, as a gift from the ima- 



UPON THE HEART. G3 

filiation, tranquillity to the neart. While a soft silence 
reathes around me, every object is pleasant to my 
view ; rural scenery fixes my attention, and dissipates 
the grief that lies heavy at my heart ; the loveliness of 
solitude enchants me, and, subduing every vexation, 
inspires my soul with benevolence, gratitude, and con- 
tent. I return thanks to my Creator for endowing me 
with an imagination, which, though it has frequently 
caused the trouble of my life, occasionally leads me, in 
the hour of my retirement, to some friendly rock, on 
which I can climb, and contemplate with greater com- 
posure the tempests I have escaped. 

There are, indeed, many Anglicised gardens in Ger- 
many, laid out so whimsically absurd, as to excite no 
other emotions than those of laughter or disgust. How 
extremely ridiculous is it to see a forest of poplars, 
scarcely sufficient to supply a chamber stove with fuel 
for a week ; mere molehills dignified with the name of 
mountains ; caves and aviaries, in which tame and 
savage animals, birds and amphibious creatures, are at- 
tempted to be represented in their native grandeur ; 
bridges, of various kinds, thrown across rivers, which 
a couple of ducks would drink dry ; and wooden fishes 
swimming in canals, which the pump every morning 
supplies with water ! These unnatural beauties are in- 
capable of affording any pleasure to the imagination. 

A celebrated English writer has said, that " solitude, 
on the first view of it, inspires the mind with terror, 
because every thing that brings with it the idea of pri-^ 
vation is terrific, and therefore sublime like space, 
darkness, and silence." 

The species of greatness which results from the idea 
of infinity, can only be rendered delightful by being 
viewed at a proper distance. The Alps, in Swisserland, 
and particularly near the canton of Berne, appear in- 
conceivably majestic ; but on a near approach, they ex- 
cite ideas certainly sublime, yet mingled with a degree 
of terror. The eye, on beholding those immense and 
enormous masses piled one upon the other, forming 
one vast and uninterrupted chain of mountains, and 
rearing their lofty summits to the skies, conveys to the 
heart the most rapturous delight, while the succession 
of soft and lively shades which tney throw around the 
scene, tempers the impression, and renders the view as 
agreeable as it is sublime. On the contrary, no feeling 
heait can on a close view, behold this prodigious wall 



64 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

of rocks without experiencing involuntary trembling. 
The mind contemplates with affright their eternal 
snows, their steep ascents, their dark caverns, the tor- 
rents which precipitate themselves with deafening cla- 
mor from their summits, the black forests of firs that 
overhang their sides, and the enormous fragments of 
rocks which time and tempests have torn away. How 
my heart thrilled when I first climbed through a steep 
and narrow track upon these sublime deserts, discover- 
ing every step I made, new mountains rising over my 
head, while upon the least stumble, death menaced me 
in a thousand shapes below ! But the imagination im- 
mediately kindles when you perceive yourself in the 
midst of this grand scene of nature, and reflect from 
these heights on the weakness of human power, and 
the imbecility of the greatest monarchs ! 

The history of Swisserland evinces, that the natives 
of these mountains are not a degenerate race of men, 
and that their sentiments are as generous as their feel- 
ings are warm. Bold and spirited by nature, the liber- 
ty they enjoy gives wings to their souls, and they tram- 
ple tyrants and tyranny under their feet. Some of the 
inhabitants of Swisserland, indeed, are not perfectly 
free ; though they all possess notions of liberty, love 
their country, and return thanks to the Almighty for 
that happy tranquillity which permits each individual 
to live quietly under his vine, and enjoy the shade of 
his fig-tree ; but the most pure and genuine liberty is 
always to be found among the inhabitants of these 
stupendous mountains. 

The Alps in Swisserland are inhabited by a race of 
men sometimes unsocial, but always good and gene- 
rous. The hardy and robust characters given to them 
by the severity of their climate, is softened by pastoral 
life. It is said by an English writer, that he who has 
never heard a stormin the Alps, can form no idea of 
the continuity of therfghtning, the rolling and the burst 
of the thunder which roars round the horizon of these 
immense mountains ; and the people never enjoying 
better habitations than their own cabins^ nor seeing any 
other country than their own rocks, believe the uni- 
verse to be an unfinished work^and a scene of unceas- 
ing tempest. But the skies do not always lower ; the 
thunder does not incessantly roll, nor the lightnings 
continually flash ; immediately after the most dreadful 
tempests, the hemisphere clears itself by slow degrees. 



UPON THE HEART. 05 

and becomes serene. The dispositions of the Swiss 
follow the nature of their climate ; kindness succeeds 
to violence, and generosity to the most brutal raryr" 
this may be easily proved, not only from the records of 
history, but from recent facts. 

General Redin, an inhabitant of the Alps, and a na- 
tive of the canton of Schwitz, enlisted very early in 
life into the Swiss Guards, and attained the rank of 
lieutenant-general in that corps. His long residence 
at Paris and Versailles, however, had not been able to 
change his character ; he still continued a true Swiss. 
The new regulation made by the king of France, in the 
year 1764, relating to this corps, gave great discontent 
to the canton of Schwitz. The citizens, considering it 
as an innovation extremely prejudicial to their ancient 
privileges, threw all the odium of the measures on the 
lieutenant-general, whose wife, at this period, resided 
on his estate in the canton, where she endeavored to 
raise a number of young recruits ; but the sound of the 
French drum had become so disgusting to the ears of 
the citizens, that they beheld with indignation the white 
cockade placed in the hats of the deluded peasants. 
The magistrate apprehensive that this ferment might 
ultimately cause an insurrection among the people, felt 
it his duty to forbid madame de Redin to continue her 
levies. The lady requested he would certify his prohi- 
bition in writing ; but the magistrate not being dispo- 
sed to carry matters to this extremity against the court 
of France, she continued to beat up for the requested 
number of recruits. The inhabitants of the canton, ir- 
ritated by this bold defiance of the prohibition, sum- 
moned a General Diet, and madame de Redin appeared 
before the Assembly of Four Thousand. " The drum," 
said she, " shall never cease to sound, until you give 
me such a certificate as may justify my husband to the 
French court for not completing the number of his 
men." The Assembly accordingly granted her the re- 
quired certificate, and enjoining her to procure the in- 
terest and interposition of her husband with the court 
in favor of her injured country, waited in anxious ex- 
pectation that his negotiation would produce a favora- 
ble issue. Unhappily the court of Versailles rejected 
all solicitation on the subject, and by this means drove 
the irritated and impatient inhabitants beyond the 
bounds of restraint. The leading men of the canton 
pretended that the new regulation endangered not only 



66 INFLUENCE OP SOLITUDE 

their civil liberties, but, what was dearer to them, their 
religion. The general discontent was at length fo- 
mented into popular fury. A General Diet was again 
assembled, and it was publicly resolved not to furnish 
the King of France in future with any troops. The 
treaty of alliance concluded in the year 1713 was torn 
from the public register, and general de Redin ordered 
instantly to return from France with the soldiers under 
his command, upon pain, if he refused, of being irrevo- 
cably banished from the republic. The obedient gene- 
ral obtained permission from the king to depart with 
his regiment from France, and entering Schwitz, the 
metropolis of the canton, at the head of his troops, with 
drums beating and colors flying, marched immediate- 
ly to the church, where he deposited his standards 
upon the great altar, and falling on his knees, offered 
up his thanks to God. Rising from the ground, and 
turning to his affectionate soldiers, who were dissolved 
in tears, he discharged their arrears of pay, gave them 
their uniforms and accoutrements, and bid them forev- 
er farewell. The fury of the populace, on perceiving 
within their power the man whom the whole country 
considered as the perfidious abettor, and traitorous 
adviser, of the new regulation, by which the court of 
Versailles had given such a mortal blow to the liberties 
of the country, greatly increased ; and he was ordered 
to disclose before the General Assembly the origin of 
that measure, and the means by which it had been car- 
ried on, in order that they might learn their relative 
situation with France, and ascertain the degree of pun- 
ishment that was due to the offender. Redin, conscious 
that, under the existing circumstances, eloquence would 
make no impression on minds so prejudiced against 
him, contented himself with cooly declaring, in a few 
words, that the cause of framing a new regulation was 
publicly known, and that he was as innocent upon the 
subject as he was ignorant of the cause of his dismis- 
sion. " The traitor then will not confess !" exclaimed 
one of the most furious members : " Hang him on the 
next tree— cut him to pieces." These menaces were 
instantly repeated throughout the Assembly; and 
while the injured soldier continued perfectly Jtranquil 
and undismayed, a party of the people, more daring 
than the rest, jumped upon the tribune, where he stood 
surrounded by the judges. A young man, his godson, 
was holding a parapluie over his head, to shelter him 



UPON THE HEART. 6? 

from the rain, which at this moment poured down in 
incessant torrents, when one of the enraged multitude 
immediately broke the parapluie in pieces with his 
stick, exclaiming, "Let the traitor be uncovered I" 
This exclamation conveyed a correspondent indigna- 
tion into the bosom of the youth, who instantly replied, 
u My god-father a betrayer of his country ! Oh ! I was 
ignorant, I assure you, of the crime alleged against 
him ; but since it is so, let him perish ! Where is the 
rope ? I will be first to put it round the traitor's neck !" 
The magistrates instantly formed a circle round the 
general, and with uplifted hands exhorted him to avert 
the impending danger, by confessing that he had not 
opposed the measures of France with sufficient zeal, 
and to offer to the offended people his whole fortune as 
an atonement for his neglect ; representing to him that 
these were the only means of redeeming his liberty, 
and perhaps his life. The undaunted soldier, with per- 
fect tranquillity and composure, walked through the 
surrounding circle to the side of the tribune, and while 
the whole "Assembly anxiously expected to hear an 
ample confession of his guilt, made a sign of silence 
with his hand: "Fellow-citizens," said he, "you are 
not ignorant that I have been two-and-forty years in 
the French establishment. You know, and many 
among you, who were with me in the service, can tes- 
tify its truth, how often I have faced the enemy, and 
the manner in which I conducted myself in battle. I 4 
considered every engagement as the last day of my 
life. But here I protest to you, in the presence of that 
Almighty Being who knows all our hearts, who lis- 
tens to all our words, and who will hereafter judge all 
our actions, that I never appeared before an enemy with 
a mind more pure, a conscience more tranquil, a heart 
more innocent, than at present I possess ; and if it is 
your pleasure to condemn me because I refuse to con- # 
fess a treachery of which I have not been guilty, I 
am now ready to resign my life into your hands." 
The dignified demeanor with which the general made 
this declaration; and the air of truth which accompanied 
his words, calmed the fury of the Assembly, and saved 
his life. Both he and his wife, however, immediately 
quitted the canton ; she entering into a convent at Uri, 
and he retiring to a cavern among the rocks, where 
he lived two years in solitude. Time, at length, sub- 



08 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

dued the anger of the people, and softened the generaPs 
sense of their injustice. He returned to the bosom of 
his country, rewarded its ingratitude by the most sig- 
nal services, and made every individual recollect and 
acknowledge the integrity of their magnanimous coun- 
tryman. To recompense him for the injuries and in- 
justice he had suffered, they elected him bailli, or chief 
officer of the canton ; and afforded him an almost sin- 
gular instance of their constancy and affection, by sucr 
* cessively conferring on him three times this high and 

f important dignity. This is the characteristic disposi- 
tion of the Swiss who inhabit the Alps: alternately 
violent and mild: and experiencing, as the extremes^ 
of a delighted or vexed imagination happen to prevail, 
the same vicissitudes as their climate, 4 The rude 
scenes of of greatness which these stupendous moun- 
tains and vast deserts afford, render the Swiss violent 
in sentiment, and rough in manners ; w r hile the tran- 
quillity of their fields, and the smiling beauties of their 
vallies, soften their minds, and render their hearts kind 
and benevolent. 

English artists confess that the aspect of nature in 
Swisserland is too sublime and majestic for the pencil 
of art faithfully to reach ; but how ^xquisite must be 
the enjoyments they feel upon those romantic hills, in 
those delightful vallies, upon the charming borders of 
those still and transparent lakes, w r here nature unfolds 

. her various charms, and appears in the highest pomp 
and splendor ; where the majestic oaks, the deep em- 
bowering elms, and dark green firs, which cover and 
adorn these immense forests, are pleasingly intersper- 
sed with myrtles, almond trees, jasmines, pomegran- 
ates, and vines, which offer their humbler beauties to 
the view, and variegate ihe scene fe Nature is in no 
country of the globe more rich and various than in 




These sublime beauties, while they elevate and in- 
flame the heart, give greater action and life to the ima- 
gination than softer scenes; in like manner as a fine 
night affords a more august and solemn spectacle than 
the mildest day. 

In coming from Frescati, by the borders of the small 
lake of Nemi, which lies in a deep valley, so closely 
sheltered by mountains and forest, that the winds are 



UPON THE HEART. 69 

scarcely permitted to disturb its surface, it is impossi- 
ble not to exclaim with an English poet, that here — 

<( Black melancholy sits, and round her throws 
A death-like silence, and a dread repose : 
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, 
Shades every flower, and darkens every green ; 
Deepens the murmurs of the falling floods, 
And breathes a browner horror on the woods." 

But how the soul expands, and every thought be- 
comes serene and free, when, from the garden of the 
Capuchins, near Albano, the eye suddenly discovers 
the little melancholy lake, with Frescati and all its ru- 
ral vallies on one side: on the other, the handsome 
city of Albano, the village and castle of Riccia and 
Gensano, with their hills beautifully adorned with 
clusters of the richest vines: below, the extensive 
plains of Campania, in the middle of which Rome, 
formerly the mistress of the world, raises its majestic 
head ; and lastly, beyond all these objects, the hills of 
Tivoli, the Appenines, and the Mediterranean sea ! 

How often, on the approach of spring, has the mag- 
nificent valley, where the ruins of the residence of 
Rodolpho de Hapsburg rise upon the side of a hill, 
crowned with woods of variegated verdure, afforded 
me the purest and most ineffable delight! There the 
rapid Aar descends in torrents from the lofty moun- 
tains ; sometimes forming a vast basin in the vale ; at 
others, precipitating through the narrow passages 
across the rocks, winding its course majestically 
through the middle of the vast and fertile plains : on 
the other side the Ruffs, and, lower down, the Limmat, 
bring their tributary streams, and peaceably unite them 
with the waters of the Aar. In the middle of this rich 
and verdant scene, I beheld the Royal Solitude, where 
the remains of the emperor Albert I. repose in silence, 
with those of many princes of the house of Austria., 
counts, knights, and gentlemen, killed in battle by the 
gallant Swiss. At a distance I discovered the valley 
where lie the ruins of the celebrated city of Vindonis- 
sa, upon which I have frequently sat, and reflected 
upon the vanity of human greatness. Beyond this 
magnificent country, ancient castles raise their lofty 
heaa's upon the hills ! and the far distant horizon is 
terminated by the sublime summits of the Alps. In 
the midst of all this grand scenery, my eyes were in 



70 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

stinctively cast down into the deep valley immediately 
below me, and continually fixed upon the little village 
where I first drew my breath. It is thus that the sub- 
lime or beautiful operates differently on the heart ! the 
one exciting fear and terror, the other creating only 
soft and agreeable sensations ; but both tending to en- 
large the sphere of the imagination, and enabling us 
more completely to seek enjoyment within ourselves. 

Pleasures of this description may, indeed be enjoyed, 
without visiting the romantic solitudes of either Swis- 
serland of Italy. $ There is no person who may not, 
while he is quietly traversing the hills and dales, learn 
to feel how much the aspect of nature may, by the as- 
sistance of the imagination, 'affect the heart. A fine 
view, the freshness of the air, an unclouded sky, and 
the joys of the chase, give sensations of health, and 
make every step seem too short. The privation of all 
ideas of dependance, accompanied by domestic comfort, 
useful employments, and innocent recreations, produce 
a strength of thought, and fertility of imagination, 
which present to the mind the most agreeable images, 
and touch the heart with the most delightful sensa- 
tions. It is certainly true, that a person possessed of a 
fine imagination may be much happier in prison, than 
he could possibly be without imagination amidst the 
most magnificent scenery. But even to a mind de- 
prived of this happy faculty, the lowest enjoyments of 
rural life, even the common scenery of harvest time, is 
capable of performing miracles on his heart. Alas ! 
who has not experienced, in the hours of langor and 
disgust, the powerful effects which a contemplation of 
the pleasures that surround the poorest peasant's cot is 
capable of affording! How fondly the heart partici- 
pates in all his homely joys! With what freedom, 
cordiality, and kindness, we take him by the hand, and 
listen to his innocent and artless tales !— How sudden- 
ly do we feel an interest in all his little concerns ; an 
interest which, while it unveils, refines and meliorates 
the latent inclinations of our hearts ! 

The tranquillity of retired life, and the view of rural 
scenes, frequently produce a quietude of disposition, 
which, while it renders the noisy pleasures of the world 
insipid, enables the heart to seek the charms of solitude 
with increased delight. 

The happy indolence peculiar to Italians, who, nder 
the pleasures*5T a clear, unclouded sky, are always poo.r 



UPON THE HEART. 71 

but "never miserable, greatly augments the feelings of 
the heart : the mildness of the climate, the fertility of 
their soil, their peaceful religion, and their contented 
nature, compensate for every thing. Dr. Moore, an 
English traveller, whose works afford me great delight, 
says, that " the Italians are the greatest loungers in the 
world ; and while walking in the fields, or stretched in 
the shade, seem to enjoy the serenity and genial 
warmth of their climate with a degree of luxurious in- 
dulgence peculiar to themselves. Without ever run- 
ning into the daring excesses of the English, or display- 
ing the frisky vivacity of the French, or the stubborn 
phlegm of the Germans, the Italian populace discover 
a species of sedate sensibility to every source of enjoy- 
ment, from which, perhaps, they derive a greater de- 
gree of happiness than any of the others." 

Relieved from every afflicting and tormenting object, 
it is^ perhaps, impossible for the mind not to resign it- 
self to agreeable chimeras and romantic sentiments : 
but this situation notwithstanding these disadvantages, 
has its fair side. Romantic speculations may lead the 
mind into certain extravagancies and errors from 
whence base and contemptible passions may be engen- 
dered ; may habituate it to a light and frivolous style of 
thinking ; and, by preventing it from directing its fa- 
culties to rational ends, may obscure the prospect of 
true happiness ; for the soul cannot easily quit the illu- 
sion on which it dwells with such fond delight ; the or- 
dinary duties of life, with its more noble and substan- 
tial pleasures, are perhaps thereby obstructed : but it is 
very certain that romantic sentiments do not always 
render the mind that possesses them unhappy. Who, 
alas ! is so completely happy in reality as he frequently 
has been in imagination ! 

Rousseau, who, in the early part of his life, was ex- 
tremely fond of romances, feeling his mind hurried 
away by the love of those imaginary objects with which 
that species of composition abounds, and perceiving 
the facility with which they maybe enjoyed, withdrew 
his attention from every thing about him, and by this 
circumstance laid the foundation of that taste for soli- 
tude which he preserved to an advanced period of his 
life ; a taste in appearance dictated by depression and 
disgust, and attributed by him to the irresistible im- 
pulse of an affectionate, fond, and tender heart, which, 
not being able to find in the regions of philosophy and 



TZ INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

Iruth sentiments sufficiently warm and animated, wag 
constrained to seek its enjoyments in the sphere of 
fiction. 

But the imagination, may, in retirement, indulge its 
wanderings to a certain degree without the risk of in- 
juring either the sentiments of the mind or the sensa- 
tions of the heart. Oh ! if the friends of my youth in 
Swisserland knew how frequently, during the silence 
of the night, I pass with them those hours which are 
allotted to sleep ; if they were apprized that neither 
time nor absence can efface the remembrance of their 
former kindness from my mind, and that this pleasing 
recollection tends to dissipate my grief, and to cast the 
veil of oblivion over my woes ; they would, perhaps, 
also rejoice to find that I still live among them in ima- 
gination, though I may be dead to them in reality. 

The solitary man, whose heart is warmed with re- 
fined and noble sentiments, cannot be unhappy. — While 
the stupid and vulgar bewail his fate, and conceive 
him to be the victim of corroding care and loathed me- 
lancholy, he frequently tastes the most delightful plea- 
sure. The French entertained a notion that Rousseau 
was a man of a gloomy and dejected disposition ; but he 
was ce rtainly not so for many years of his life, particu- 
larly when he wrote to M. <ie Malesherbes, the chan- 
cellor's son, in the following terms : "I cannot express 
to you, Sir, how sensibly I am affected by perceiving 
that you think me the most unhappy of mankind; for 
as the public will, no doubt, entertain the same senti- 
ment of me as you do ? it is to me a source of real afflic- 
tion ! — Oh ! if my sentiments w T ere really known, every 
individual would endeavor to follow my example. 
Peace would then reign throughout the world ; men 
would no longer seek to destroy each other ; and wick- 
edness, by removing the great incentives to it, no lon- 
ger exist. But it may be asked, how I could find em- 
ployment in solitude? — I answer, in my own mind; in 
the whole universe ; in every thing that dies, in every 
thing that can exist ; in all that the eye finds beautiful 
in the real, or the imagination in the intellectual world. 
I assembled about me every thing that is flattering to 
the heart, and regulated my pleasures by the moderation 
of my desires. No ! The most voluptuous have never ex- 
perienced such refined delights ; and I have always en- 
joyed my chimeras much more than if they had been 
realized." 



UPON THE HEART. ?3 

This is certainly the language of enthusiasm ; but, 
ye stupid vulgar ! who would not prefer the warm fan- 
cy of this amiable philosopher to your cold and creep- 
ing understandings?— Who would not willingly re- 
nounce your vague conversation, your deceitful felici- 
ties, your boasted urbanity, your noisy assemblies, pue- 
rile pastimes, and inveterate prejudices, for a quiet and 
contented lite in the bosom of a happy family ? — Who 
would not rather seek in the silence of the woods, or 
upon the daisied borders of a peaceful lake, those pure 
and simple pleasures of nature, so delicious in recollec- 
tion, and productive of joys so pure, so affecting, so dif- 
ferent from your own ? 

Eclogues, which are representatives of rural happi- 
ness in its highest perfection, are also fictions ; but 
they are fictions of the most pleasing and agreeable 
kind. True felicity must be sought in retirement, 
where the soul, disengaged from the torments of the 
world, no longer feels those artificial desires which 
render it unhappy both in prospect and fruition. Con- 
tent with little, satisfied with all, surrounded by love 
and innocence, we perceive in retirement, the golden 
age, as described by the poets, revived ; while in the 
world every one regrets its loss. The regret however, 
js unjust ; for those enjoyments were not peculiar to 
that happy period ; and each individual may, whenever 
he pleases, form his own Arcadia. The beauties of a 
crystal spring, a silent grove, a daisied meadow, chas- 
ten the feelings of the heart, and afford at all times, to 
those who have a taste for nature, a permanent and 
pure delight. 

" The origin of poetry," says Pope, " is ascribed to 
that age which succeeded the creation of the world : 
as the keeping of flocks seems to have been the first 
employment of mankind, the most ancient sort of poe- 
try was pastoral. It is natural to imagine, that the lei- 
sure of these ancient shepherds admitting and inviting 
some diversion, none was so proper to that solitary 
and sedentary life as singing, and that in their songs 
they took occasion to celebrate their own felicity. 
From hence a poem was invented, and afterward im- 
proved to a perfect image of that happy time, which, 
by giving Us an esteem for the virtues of a former age, 
might recommend them to the present." * 

These agreeable though fictitious descriptions of the 
age of innocence and virtue, communicate joy and. 
7 



74 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

gladness to our hearts ; and we bless the poet, who, in 
the ecstacy of his felicity contributes to render others 
as happy as himself. Sicily and Zurich have produced 
two of these benefactors to mankind. The aspect of 
nature never appears more charming, the bosom never 
heaves with such sweet delight, the heart never beats 
more pleasantly, the soul never feels more perfect hap- 
piness than is produced by reading the Idylls of Theo- 
critus and Gessner. 

Bv these easy simple modes the beauties of nature are 
made, by the assistance of the imagination, to operate 
forcibly on the heart. The mkid, indeed, drawn away 
by these agreeable images, often resigns itself too easi- 
ly to the illusions of romance ; but the ideas they create 
generally amend the heart without injuring the under- 
standing, and spread some of the sweetest flowers along 
the most thorny paths of human life. 

Leisure, the highest happiness upon earth, is seldom 
enjoyed with perfect satisfaction, except in solitude. 
Indolence and indifference do not always afford leisure : 
for true leisure is frequently found in that interval of 
relaxation which divides a painful duty from the agree- 
able occupations of literature and philosophy. P. Scipio 
was of this opinion when he said, that he was never less 
idle when he had most leisure, and that he was never 
less alone than when he was alone. Leisure is not to 
be considered a state of intellectual torpidity, but a new 
incentive to further activity ; it is sought by strong and 
energetic minds, not as an end, but as a means of re- 
storing lost activity ; for whoever seeks happiness in a 
situation merely quiescent, seeks for a phantom that 
will elude his grasp. Leisure will never be found in 
mere rest ; but will follow those who sieze the first im- 
pulse to activity; in which, however, such employ- 
ments as best suit the extent and nature of different ca- 
pacities, must be preferred to those which promise com- 
pensation without labor, and enjoyment without pain. 

Thus rural retirement dries up those streams of dis- 
content which flow so plentifully through public life ; 
changes most frequently the bitterest feeling into the 
sweetest pleasures ; and inspires an ecstacy and con- 
tent unknown to the votaries of the world. The tran- 
quillity of nature buries in oblivion the criminal incli- 
nations of the heart ; renders it blithe, tender, open, and 
confident ; and, by wisely managing the passions, and 
preventing an overheated imagination from fabricating 



T7P0N THE HEART. 75 

fancied woes, strengthens in it every virtuous sensa- 
tions. 

In towns, the solitude which is necessary to pro- 
duce this advantage cannot be conveniently practised. 
It seems indeed, no very difficult task for a man to re- 
tire into his chamber, and by silent contemplation, to 
raise his mind above the mean consideration of sen- 
sual objects ; but few men have sufficient resolution to 
perform it; for, within doors, matters of business eve- 
ry moment occur, and interrupt the chain of reflection; 
and without, whether alone or in company, a variety of 
accidents may occasionally happen, which will con- 
found our vain wisdom, aggravate the painful feelings 
of the heart, and weaken the finer powers of the 
mind. 

Rousseau was always miserable during his residence 
at Paris. This extraordinary genius, it is true, wrote 
his immortal works in that agitated metropolis ; but the 
moment he quitted his study, and wandered through 
the streets, his mind was bewildered by a variety of 
heterogeneous sentiments, his recollection vanished ; 
and this brilliant writer and profound philosopher, who 
was so intimateff acquainted with the most intricate 
labyrinths of the human heart, was reduced to the con- 
dition of a child. But in the country we issue from the 
house in perfect safety, and feel increasing cheerful- 
ness and satisfaction. Tired with meditation, the 
rural recluse has only to open the doors of his study, 
and eirjoy his walk, while tranquillity attends his steps, 
and new pleasures present themselves to his view on 
every turn. Beloved by all around him, he extends 
his hand with cordial affection to every man he meets. 
Nothing occurs to vex and irritate his mind. He runs 
no risk of being tortured by the supercilious^behavior 
of some haughty female proud of her descent, or of 
enduring the arrogant egotism of an upstart peer : is 
in no danger of being crushed beneath the rolling car- 
riages of Indian nabobs : nor dares frontless vice, on 
the authority of mouldy parchments, attack his proper- 
ty, or presumjflffous ignorance offer the least indignity 
to his modest virtue!* 

A man, indeed, by avoiding the tumultuous inter- 
course of soeiety, and deriving his comforts from 
his own breast, may, even in Paris, or any other- 
metropolis, avoid these unpleasant apprehensions, if 
his nerves be firm, and his constitution strong: 



76 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

for to a frame disjointed by nervous affections every 
object is irritating, and every passion tremblingly alive. 
The passions are the gales by which man must steer 
his course through the troubled ocean of life ; they fill 
the sails which give motion to the soul; and when 
they become turbulent and impetuous, the vessel is al- 
ways in danger, and generally runs aground. The 
petty cares and trifling vexations of life, however, give 
but shortlived disturbance to a heart free from remorse. 
Philosophy teaches us to forget past uneasiness, to for- 
bear idle speculations of approaching felicity, and to 
rest contented with present comforts, without refining 
away our existing happiness by wishing that which is 
really good to be still better. Every thing is much bet- 
ter than we imagine. A mind too anxious in the ex- 
pectation of happiness is seldom satisfied, and general- 
ly mixes with its highest fruition a certain portion of 
discontent. The stream of content must flow from a 
deliberate disposition in our minds to learn what is 
good, and a determined resolution to seek for and 
enjoy it, however small the portion may be. 

The content, however, which men in general so con- 
fidently expect to find in rural retiiement, is not to be 
acquired by viewing objects either with indiscriminate 
admiration or supine indifference. He who without la- 
bor, and without a system of conduct previously di- 
gested and arranged, hopes for happiness in solitude, 
will yawn with equal fatigue at his cottage in the coun- 
try and his mansion in town ; while he who keeps 
himself continually employed, may in the deepest soli- 
tude, by the mere dint of labor, attain true tranquillity 
and happiness. 

Petrarch, in his solitude at Vaucluse, would have ex- 
perienced this tranquillity, if his bosom had not been 
disturbed by love \ for he perfectly understood the art 
of managing his time. "I rise," said he, "before the 
sun, and on the approach of day wander contemplative- 
ly along the fields, or retire to study. I read, I write, 
I think, I vanquish indolence, banish sleep, avoid luxu- 
ry, and forget sensuality. From morning till night I 
climb the barren mountains, traverse the humid vallies, 
seek the deepest caves, or walk, accompanied only by 
my thoughts, along the banks of my river. I have 
•no society to distract my mind ; and men daily become 
less anoying to me ; for I place them either far before 
or far behind me, I recollect what is past, and con- 



TJPON THE HEART. 77 

template on what is to come. I have found an excel- 
lent expedient to detach my mind from the world. I 
cultivate a fondness for my place of residence, and I am 
persuaded that I could be happy any where except at 
Avignon. In my retreat at Vaucluse, where I am at 
present, I occasionally find Athens, Rome, or Flo- 
rence, as the one or the other of those places happens 
to please the prevailing disposition of my mind. Here 
I enjoy all my friends, as well as those who have long 
since entered the vale of death, and of whom I have no 
knowledge, but what their works afford." 

What character, however luxurious, ever felt the 
same content at any splendid entertainment, as Rous- 
seau experienced in his humble meal ! I return 
home," says he, "with tired feet, but with a contented 
mind, and experience the calmest repose in resigning 
myself to the impression of objects, without exercising 
thought, indulging imagination, or doing any thing to 
interrupt the peaceful felicity of my station. The table 
is ready spread on my lawn, and furnished with re- 
freshments. Surrounded by my small and happy fami- 
ly, I eat my supper with healthy appetite, and without 
any appearance of servitude or dependance to annoy 
the love and kindness by which we are united. My 
faithful dog is not a subservient slave, but a firm friend, 
from whom, as we always feel the same inclination, I 
never exact obedience. The gaiety of the mind through- 
out the evening testifies that I live alone throughout 
the day ; for, being seldom pleased with others, and 
never, when visiters have disturbed me, with myself, I 
sit, during the whole evening of the day when compa- 
ny has interrupted me, either grumbling or in silence: 
so at least my good housekeeper has remarked ; and 
since she mentioned it, I have from my own obser- 
vation found it universally true. Having thus made 
my humble and cheerful meal, I take a few turns round 
my little garden, or play some favorite air upon my 
spinette, and experience upon my pillow a soft content, 
more sweet, if possible, than even undisturbed re- 
pose." 

At the village of Richterswyl, situated a few 
leagues from Zurich, and surrounded by every object 
the most smiling, beautiful, and romantic that Swis- 
serland presents, dwells a celebrated physician. His 
soul, like the scenery of nature which surrounds him, 
is tranquil and sublime. His habitation is the temple 
7* 



78 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

of health, of friendship, and of every peaceful virtue. 
The village rises on the borders of the lake, at a place 
where two projecting points form a fine bay of nearly 
half a league. On the opposite shores, the lake, which 
is not quite a league in extent, is enclosed from the 
north to the east by pleasant hills covered with vine- 
yards, intermixed with fertile meadows, orchards, 
fields, groves, and thickets, with little hamlets, church- 
es, villas, and cottages scattered up and down the 
scene. A w T ide and magnificent amphitheatre, which 
no artist has yet attempted to paint, except in detached 
scenes, opens itself from the east to the south. The 
view towards the higher part of the lake, which on 
this side is four leagues long, presents to the eye jut^ 
ting points of land, detached aytes, the little town of 
Rapperschwyl, built on the side' of a hill, and a bridge 
which reaches from one side of the lake to the other. 
Beyond the town the inexhaustible valley extends it- 
self in a half circle to the sight ; and upon the fore- 
ground rises a peak of land which swells as it extends 
into beautiful hills. Behind them, at the distance of 
about half a league, is a range of mountains covered 
with trees and verdure, and interspersed with villages 
and detached houses ; beyond which, at a still greater 
distance, are discovered the fertile and majestic Alps, 
twisted one among the other, and exhibiting, alternate- 
ly, shades of the lightest and darkest azure : and in the 
back ground high rocks, covered with eternal snows, 
lift their towering heads, and touch the skies. On the 
south side of this rich, enchanting, and incomparable 
scene, the amphitheatre is extended by another range 
of mountains reaching toward the west ; and at the 
feet of these mountains, on the borders of the lake, lies 
the village of Richterswyl, surrounded by rich fallows 
and fertile pastures, and overhung by forests of firs, 
The streets of the village, which in itself is extremely 
clean, are nearly paved; and the houses, which are 
mostly built of stone, are painted on the outside. 
Pleasant walks are formed along the banks of the 
lake, and lead quite round the town, through groves of 
fruit-trees and shady forests, up to the very summit of 
the hills. The traveller, struck with the sublime and 
beautiful scenery that every where surrounds him, 
stops to contemplate with eager curiosity the increas- 
ing beauties which ravish his sight; and while his 
bosom swells with excess of pleasure, his suspended 



UPON THE HEART. 79 

breath bespeaks his fear of interrupting the fulness of 
his delight. Every acre of this charming country is 
in the highest state of cultivation and improvement. 
Every hand is at work ; and men, women, and chil- 
dren, of every age and of every description, are all use- 
fully employed. 

The two houses of the physician are each of them 
surrounded by a garden ; and although situated in the 
centre of the village, are as rurally sequestered as if 
they had been built in the bosom of the country. 
Through the gardens, and close beneath the chamber 
of my valued friend, runs a pure and limpid stream, 
on the opposite of which, at an agreeable distance, is 
the high road; where, almost daily, numbers of pil- 

frims successively pass in their way to the hermitage. 
'rom the windows of these houses, and from every 
part of the gardens, you behold, toward the south, at 
the distance of about a league, the majestic Ezelberg 
rear its lofty head, which is concealed in forests of deep 
green firs; while on its declivity hangs a neat little vil- 
lage, with a handsome church, upon the steeple of which 
the sun suspends his departing rays, and shows its career 
is nearly finished. In the front is the lake of Zurich, 
whose peaceful water is secured from the violence of 
tempests, and whose transparent surface reflects the 
beauties of its delightful banks. 

During the silence of the night, if you repair to the 
chamber windows of this enchanting mansion, or 
walk through its gardens, to taste the exhaling fra- 
grance of the shrubs and flowers, while the moon, ris- 
ing in unclouded majesty over the summit of the moun- 
tains, reflects on the smooth surface of the water a 
broad beam of light, you hear, during this awful sleep 
of nature, the sound of the village clocks, echoing from 
the opposite shores ; and, on the Richterswyl side, the 
shrill proclamation of the watchmen, blended occa- 
sionally with the barkings of the faithful house-dog. 
At a distance you hear the boats gliding gently along 
the stream, dividing the water with their oars, and per- 
ceive them, as they cross the moon's translucent beam, 
playing among the sparkling waves. 

Riches and luxury are no where to be seen in the 
happy habitation of this wise philanthropist. His chairs 
are made of straw ; his tables are worked from the 
wood of the country 5 and the plates and dishes on 
which he entertains his friends are all of earthen-ware. 



80 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

Neatness and convenience reign throughout. Draw- 
ings, paintings, and engravings, of which he has a 
large well-chosen collection, are his sole expense. The 
earliest beams of Aurora light the humble apartment 
where this philosophic sage sleeps in undisturbed re- 
pose, and awake him to new enjoyments every day. 
As he rises from his bed, the cooing of the turtle-doves, 
and the morning songs of various kinds of birds, who 
make their nightly nests in an adjoinin^javiary, salute 
his ears, and welcome his approach. Tne first hour of 
the morning, and the last at night, are sacred to him- 
self; but he devotes all the intermediate hours of every 
day to a sick and afflicted multitude, who daily attend 
him for advice and assistance. The benevolent exer- 
cise of his professional skill, indeed, engrosses almost 
every moment of his life, but it constitutes his* highest 
happiness and joy. The inhabitants of the mountains 
of Swisserland, and of the vallies of the Alps, flock to 
his house, and endeavor in vain to find language capa- 
ble of expressing to him the grateful feelings of their 
hearts for the favors they receive from him. Con- 
vinced of his affection, satisfied of his medical skill, and 
believing that the good doctor is equally well acquainted 
with every subject, they listen with the deepest atten- 
tion to his words, answer all his inquiries without the 
least hesitation or reserve, treasure up his advice and 
counsel with more solicitude than if they were grains 
of gold, and depart from his presence with more regret, 
comfort, hope, resignation, and virtuous feelings, than 
if they had quitted their confessor at the hermitage. 
It may perhaps be conceived, that after a day spent in 
this manner, the happiness which this friend to man- 
kind must feel cannot in any degree be increased. 
But, when a simple, innocent, and ingenuous country 
girl, whose mind has been almost distracted by the 
fear of losing her beloved husband, enters his study, 
and seizing him with transport by the hand, joyfully 
exclaims, " Oh ! Sir, my dear husband, ill as he was 
only two days since, is now quite recovered ! Oh ! my 
dear Sir, how, how shall I thank you !" this philan- 
thropic character feels that transcending felicity, which 
ought to fill the bosom of a monarch in rendering hap- 
piness to his people. 
Of this description is the country of Swisserland, 
/ where doctor Hotze, the ablest physician of the pres- 
ent age, resides ; a physician and philosopher, whose 



k UPON THE HEART. 81 

variety of knowledge, profound judgment, and great 
experience, have raised him to an equal eminence with 
Trissot and Hirtzel, the dearest friends of my heart. 
It is in this manner that he passes the hours of his life, 
with uniformity and happiness. Surrounded, except 
during the two hours I have already mentioned, by a 
crowd of unfortunate fellbw-creaturen, who look up to 
him for relief, his mind, active and full of vigor, never 
knows repose ; but his labors are richly rewarded by the 
high and refined felicity which fills his heart. Palaces, 
alas ! seldom contain such characters. Individuals, 
however, of every description may cultivate and enjoy 
an equal degree of felicity, although they do not reside 
among scenes so delightful as those which surround my 
beloved Hotze at Richterswyl, as those of the convent 
of Capuchins near Albano, or as those which surround 
the rural retreat of my sovereign George III. at Wind- 
sor. 

Content can only be found in the tranquillity of the 
heart; and in solitude the bosom gladly opens to receive 
the wished-for inmate, and to welcome its attendant 
virtues. While nature smiles around us, decorated in 
all its beauties, the heart expands to the cheering scene ; 
every object appears in the most favorable and pleasing 
point of view; our souls overflow with kind affections ; 
the antipathies created by the ingratitude of the world 
instantly vanish ; we even forget the vain, the wicked, 
the profligate characters with whom we were mixed ; 
and being perfectly at peace with ourselves, we feel our- 
selves at peace with all mankind. But in society the 
rancorous contention which jarring interests daily 
create, the heavy yoke which subordination is continu- 
ally imposing, "the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's 
contumely," and the shocks which reason and good 
sense hourly receive from fools in power, and insolent 
superiors, spread torrents of misery over human life, 
embitter the happiness of their more worthy though 
inferior fellow-creatures, poison all pleasure, break 
through social order, spread thorns in the paths of 
virtue, and render the world a vale of tears. 

Blockheads in power are of all other characters, 
the most baneful and injurious; they confound all 
just distinctions, mistake one quality for another ; de- 
grade every person and thing to their own level ; and 
in short, change white into black, and black into 
White, 



82 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

To escape from the persecution of such characters, 
men even of fine talents and ingenious dispositions 
must act like the fox of Saadi, of the Persian poet. A 
person one day observing a fox running with uncom- 
mon speed to earth, called out to him, "Reynard, 
where are you running in so great a hurry ! Have 
vou been doing any mischief/Tor which you are appre- 
hensive of punishment ?" — "No, Sir," replied the fox; 
" my conscience is perfectly clear, and does not re- 
proach me with any thing ; but I have just overheard 
the hunters wish that they had a camel to hunt this 
morning." — " Well, but how does that concern you ? 
you are not a camel." — " Oh, my good Sir," replied 
the fox, " are you not aware that sagacious heads have 
always enemies at their heels ? and if any one should 
point me out to those sportsmen, and cry, there runs a 
camel, they would immediately seize me without ex- 
amining whether I was really the kind of animal the 
informer had described me to be." Reynard was cer- 
tainly right in his conclusion ; for men are in general 
wicked in proportion as they are ignorant or envious, 
and the only means of eluding their mischievous in- 
tentions is to keep out of their way. 

The simplicity, regularity, and serenity which ac- 
company retirement, moderate the warmest tempers, 
guard the heart against the intrusion of inordinate de- 
sires, and at length render it invulnerable to the shafts 
of malice and detraction ; while the self-examination 
it necessarily imposes, teaches us, by exhibiting to our 
view our own defects, to do justice to the superior 
merit of others. The delightful solitudes of Lausanne 
exhibit every where captivating examples of domestic 
felicity. The industrious citizen, after having faithful- 
ly performed his daily task, is sure of experiencing, on 
his return at evening to his wife and children, real 
comfort and unalloyed content. The voice of slander, 
the neglect of ingratitude, the contempt of superiors, 
and all the mortifications attendant upon worldly in- 
tercourse, are forgot the moment he beholds his happy 
family ready with open arms to receive him, and to 
bestow upon their friend and benefactor the fond ca- 
resses he so justly merits. With what exquisite de- 
light his beating bosom feels their rapturous affection. 
If his mind has been vexed by the crosses of life, the 
pstentation of courts, the insolence of riches, the arro- 
gance of power, or his temper irritated and soured by 



UPON THE HEART. S3 

the base practices of fraud, falsehood, or hypocrisy, he 
no sooner mixes with those whom he cherishes and 
supports, than a genial warmth reanimates his dejected 
heart, the tenderest sentiments inspire his soul, and 
the truth, the freedom, the probity, and the innocence 
by which he is surrounded, tranquillize his mind, and 
reconcile him to his humble lot. Oh ! observe him, all 
ye who are placed in more elevated stations, whether 
ye enjoy the confidence of statesmen, are the beloved 
companions of the great, the admired favorites of the 
fair, the envied leaders of the public taste, of high birth, 
or of ample fortunes; for if your rich and splendid 
homes be the seats of jealousy and discord, and the 
bosoms of your families strangers to that content which 
the wise and virtuous feel within walls of clay, and 
under roofs of humble thatch, you are, in comparison, 
poor indeed. 

Characters enervated by prosperity feel the smallest 
inconvenience as a serious calamity, and, unable to 
bear the touch of rude and violent hands, require to be 
treated, like young and tender flowers, with delicacy, 
and attention ; while those who have been educated in 
the rough school of adversity, walk over the thorns of 
life with a firm and intrepid step, and kick them from 
the path with indifference and contempt. Superior to 
the false opinions and prejudices of the world, they 
bear with patient fortitude the blow of misfortune, disre- 
gard all trifling injuries, and look down with proud 
contempt on the malice of their enemies, and the infi- 
delity of their friends. 

The lofty zephyr, the transparent spring, the well- 
stored river, the umbrageous forest, the cooling grotto, 
and the daisied field, however, are not always necessa- 
ry to enable us to despise or forget the consequences of 
adversity. The man who firmly keeps his course, and 
has courage to live according to his own taste and 
inclinations, cannot be affected by the little crosses of 
life, or by the obloquy or injustice of mankind. What 
we do voluntarily always affords us more pleasure than 
that which we do by compulsion. The restraints of 
the world and the obligations of society, disgust libe- 
ral minds, and deprive them, even in the midst of all 
their splendor and fortune, of that content they seek so 
anxiously to obtain. 

Solitude, indeed, not only tranquillizes the heart, 
renders it kind and virtuous, and raises it above the 



84 INFLUENCE OP SOLITUDE 

malevolence of envy, wickedness, and conceited igno- 
rance, but affords advantages still more valuable. Li- 
berty, true liberty, flies from the tumultuous crowd, 
and the forced connexions of the world. It has been 
truly observed, that in solitude man recovers from the 
distraction which had torn him from himself ; feels a 
clear conception of what he once was, and may yet 
become; explores the nature, and discovers the extent, 
of his freeborn character : rejects every thing artificial ; 
is guided by his own sentiments ; no longer dreads a 
severe master or imperious tyrant ; and neither suffers 
the constraints of business or the blandishments of 
pleasure, to disturb his repose; but, breaking boldly 
through the shackles of servile habit and arbitrary cus- 
tom, thinks for himself with confidence and courage, 
and improves the sensibility of his heart by the senti- 
ments of his mind. 

Madame de Stael considered it a great error, to ima- 
gine that freedom and liberty could be indulged at 
court, where the mind, even on the most trifling occa- 
sions, is obliged to observe a multitude of ceremonies, 
where it is impossible to speak one's thoughts, where 
our sentiments must be adapted to those around us, 
where every person assumes a control over us. and 
where we never have the smallest enjoyment ot our- 
selves. " To enjoy ourselves,," says she, we must seek 
solitude. It was in the Bastile that I first became ac- 
quainted with myself." 

A courtier, fearful of every person around him, is con- 
tinually upon the watch, and tormented incessantly by 
suspicion ; but while his heart is thus a prey to corro- 
ding anxiety, he is obliged to appear contented and se- 
rene, and, like the old lady, is always lighting one ta- 
per to Michael the archangel, and another to the devil, 
because he does not know for which of them he may 
have most occasion. A man of a liberal, enlightened 
mind, is as little calculated to perform the office of mas- 
ter of the ceremonies, or to conduct the etiquette of a 
court, as a woman is to be a religieuse. 

Liberty and leisure render a rational and active mind 
indifferent to every other kind of happiness. It was 
the love of liberty and solitude which rendered the 
riches and honors of the world so odious to Petrarch. 
Solicited at an advanced period of his life, to act as 
secretary to several popes, under the tempting offer of 
great emolument, he replied, " Riches when acquired 



UPON THE HEART. 85 

at the expense of liberty, become the source of real 
misery. A yoke formed of gold and silver is not less 
mailing and restrictive than one made of wood or iron." 
And he frankly told his friends and patrons, that to him 
there was no quantity of wealth equal in value to his 
ease and liberty : that, as he had despised riches at a 
time when he was most in need of them, it would be 
shameful in him to seek them now, when he could 
more conveniently live without them : that every man 
ought to apportion the provision for his journey accord- 
ing to the distance he had to travel ; and that, having 
almost reached the end of his course, he ought to think 
more of his reception at the inn, than of his expenses 
on the road. 

Petrarch, disgusted by the vicious manners which 
surrounded the papal chair, retired into solitude when 
he was only three-and-twenty years of age, and in pos- 
session of that exterior, both with respect to person 
and dress, which forms so essential a part in the cha- 
racter of an accomplished courtier. Nature had deco- 
rated him with every pleasing attribute. His fine form 
struck observers so forcibly, that they stopped as he 
passed along to admire and point out his symmetry. 
liis eyes were bright and full of fire ; his lively counte- 
nance proclaimed the vivacity of .the mind ; the fresh- 
est color glowed on his cheeks ; his features were un- 
commonly expressive ; and his whole appearance was 
manly, elegant, and noble. The natural disposition of 
his heart, increased by the warm climate of Italy, the 
fire of youth, the seductive charms of the various beau- 
ties who resorted to the papal court, from every nation 
of Europe, and especially the prevailing dissipation of 
the age, attached him, very early in life, to the society 
of women. The decoration of dress deeply engaged 
his attention ; and the least spot or improper fold on 
his garments, which were always of the lightest color, 
seemed to give him real uneasiness. Every form which 
appeared inelegant was carefully avoided, even in the 
fashion of his shoes; which were so extremely tight, 
and cramped him to such a degree, that he would soon 
have been deprived of the use of his feet, if he had not 
wisely recollected, that it was much better to displease 
the eyes of the ladies than to make himself a cripple. 
To prevent the dress of his hair from being discom- 
posed, he protected it with anxiety from the rudeness 
of the winds as he passed along the streets. Devoted, 



86 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

however, as he was to the service of the sex, he main- 
tained a rival fondness for literature, and an inviolable 
attachment to moral sentiment ; and while he celebra- 
ted the charms of his fair favorites in choice Italian, he 
reserved his knowledge of the learned languages for 
subjects more serious and important. Nor did he per- 
mit the warmth of his constitution, or the sensibility of 
his heart, great and exquisite as they were, to debauch 
his mind, or betray him into the most trifling indiscre- 
tion, without feeling the keenest compunction and re- 
pentance. " I wish," said he, " that I had a heart as 
hard as adamant, rather than be so continually tor- 
mented by such seducing passions." The heart of 
this amiable young man, was, indeed, continually as- 
sailed by the crowd of beauties that adorned the papal 
court; and the power of their charms, and the facility 
with which his situation enabled them to enjoy his 
company, rendered him in some degree their captive ; 
but, alarmed by the approaching torments and disquie- 
tudes of love, he cautiously avoided their pleasing 
snares, and continued, previous to the sight of his be- 
loved Laura, to roam " free and unconqured through 
the wilds of love." 

The practice of the civil law was at this period the 
only road to eminence at Avignon ; but Petrarch de- 
tested the venality of the profession ; and though he 
practised at the bar, and gained many causes by his 
eloquence, he afterwards reproached himself with it. 
" In my youth," says he, "I devoted myself to the 
trade of selling words, or rather fabricating falsehoods ; 
but that which we do against our own inclinations, is 
seldom attended with success: my fondness was for 
solitude, and therefore I attended the practice of the 
bar with aversion and disgust." The secret conscious- 
ness however, which he entertained of his own merit, 
gave him all the confidence natural to youth ; and, fil- 
ling his mind with that lofty spirit which begets the 
presumption of being equal to the highest achieve- 
ments, he relinquished the bar for the church; but 
his inveterate hatred of the manners of the Episcopal 
court prevented his exertions, and retarded his promo- 
tion. "I have.no hope," said he, in the thirty-fifth 
year of his age, " of making my fortune in the court of 
the vicar of Jesus Christ ; to acomplish that, I must as- 
siduously attend the palaces of the great, and practise 
flattery, falsehood, and deceit." A task of this kind 



UPON THE HEART. 87 

was too painful to his feelings to perform ; not be- 
cause he either hated the society of men, or disliked 
advancement, but because he detested the means he 
must necessarily have used to gratify his ambition. 
Glory was his warmest wish, and he ardently endeav- 
ored to obtain it ; not, indeed, by the ways in which it 
is usually obtained, but by delighting to walk in the 
most unfrequented paths, and of course, by retiring 
from the world. The sacrifices he made to solitude 
were great and important ; but his mind and his heart 
were Formed to enjoy the advantages it affords with a 
superior degree of delight ; a happiness which resulted 
to him from his hatred of a profligate court, and from 
his love of liberty. 

The love of liberty was the secret cause which gave 
the mind of Rousseau so inveterate a disgust to socie- 
ty, and became in solitude the spring of all his plea- 
sures. His Letters to Malesherbes are as remarkable 
for the discovery they make of his real disposition, as 
his Confessions, which have been as much misunder- 
stood as his character. " I mistook for a great length 
of time," says he, in one of these letters, " the cause of 
that invincible disgust which I always felt in my inter- 
course with the world. I attributed it to the mortifica- 
tion of not possessing that quick and ready talent 
necessary to display in conversation the little know- 
ledge I possessed ; and this reflected an idea, that I did 
not hold that reputation in the opinion of mankind 
which I conceived I merited. But although, after 
scribbling many ridiculous things, and perceiving my- 
self sought after by all the world, and honored with 
much more consideration than even my own ridicu- 
lous vanity would have led me to expect, I found that I 
was in no danger of being taken for a fool yyet^ still 
feeling the same disgust rather augmented than dimin- 
ished, I concluded that it must arise from some other 
cause, and that these were not the kind of enjoyments 
which I must look for. What then, in fact t was the 
cause- of it ? It was no other than that invincible spirit 
of liberty which nothing can overcome, and in compe^ 
tition with which, honor, fortune, and even fame itself, 
are to me as nothing. It is certain that this spirit of 
liberty is engendered less by pride than by indolence ; 
but this indolence is incredible ; it is alarmed at every 
thing ; it renders the most trifling duties of civil life 
insupportable. To be obliged to speak a word, to 



88 INFLUENCE OP SOLITUDE 

write a letter, or to pay a visit, are to me, from the mo- 
ment the obligation arises, the severest punishments. 
This is the reason why, although the ordinary com- 
merce of men is odious to me. the pleasures of private 
friendship are so dear to my heart ; for in the indul- 
gence of private friendships there are no duties to per- 
form ; we have only to follow the feelings of the heart, 
and all is done. This. is the reason also why I have so 
much dreaded to accept of favors; for every act of 
kindness demands an acknowledgment, and I feel that 
my heart is ungrateful only because gratitude becomes 
a duty. The kind of happiness, in short, which pleases 
me best, does not consist so much in doing what I wish, 
as in avoiding that which is disagreeable to me. Active 
life affords no temptations to me. I would much ra- 
ther do nothing at all than that which I dislike ; and I 
have frequently thought that I should not have lived 
very unhappily even in the Bastile, provided I was free 
from any other constraint than that of merely residing 
within the walls." 

An English author asks, " Why are the inhabitants 
of the rich plains of Lombardy, where nature pours her 
gifts in such profusion, less opulent than those of the 
mountains of Swisserland ? — Because freedom, whose 
influence is more benign than, sunshine and zephyrs ; 
who covers the rugged rock with soil, drains the sickly 
swamp, and clothes the brown heath in verdure ; who 
dresses the laborer's face with smiles, and makes him 
behold his increasing family with delight and exulta- 
tion — Freedom has abandoned the fertile fields of 
Lombardy, and dwells among the mountains of Swis- 
serland." This observation, though dressed in such 
enthusiastic expressions, is literally true at Uri, Schwitz, 
Underwalde, Zug, Glaris, and Appenzel ; for those who 
have more than their wants require are rich ; and thosa 
who are enabled to think, to speak, and to act as incli- 
nation may dictate, are free. 

f Competency and liberty, therefore, are the true 
sweeteners of life. That state of mind, so rarely pos- 
sessed, in which a man can sincerely say, I have enough, 
is the highest attainment of philosophy Happiness 
does not consist in having much, but in having suffi- 
cient. This is the reason why kings and princes are 
seldom happy ; for they always desire more than they 
possess, and are urged incessantly to attempt more 
than it is in their power to achieve. He who wants 



tJPON THE HEART 89 

little has always enough. " I am contented," says Pe- 
trarch, in a letter to his friends, the cardinals Talley- 
rand and Bologna: "I desire nothing more; I enjoy 
every thing that is necessary to life. Cincinnatus, Cur- \ 
tius, Fabricius, and Regulus, after having conquered 
nations, and led kings in triumph, were not so rich as 
I am. But I should always be poor if I were to open a 
door to my passions. Luxury, ambition, avarice know 
no bounds, and desire is an unfathomable abyss. I 
have clothes to cover me ; victuals to support me ; hor- 
ses to carry me ; lands to lie down or walk upon while 
I live, and to receive my remains when I die. What 
more 'was any Roman emperor possessed of? — My body 
is healthy ; and being engaged in toil, is less rebellious 
against my mind. I have books of every kind, which 
are to me inestimable treasures ; they fill my soul with 
a voluptuous delight, untinctured with remorse. I 
have friends whom I consider more precious than any 
thing I possess, provided their counsels do not tend to 
abridge my liberty : and I know of no other enemies 
than those which envy has raised against me." 

Solitude not only restrains inordinate desires, but dis* 
covers to mankind their reaFwants : and where a sim- * 
plicity of manners prevails, the real wants of men are 
not only few, but easily satisfied ; for being ignorant 
of those desires which luxury creates, they can have 
no idea of indulging them. An old country curate, who 
had all his life resided upon a lofty mountain near the 
lake of Thun, in the canton of Berne, was one day * 
presented with a moor -cock. The good old man, 
ignorant that such a bird existed, consulted with his 
cook-maid in what manner this rarity was to be dispos- 
ed of, and they both agreed to bury it in the garden. If 
we were all, alas ! as ignorant of the delicious flavor of 
moor-cocks, we might be all as happy and contented 
as the simple pastor of the mountain near the lake of 
Thun. 

The man who confines his desires to his real wants, 
is more wise, more rich, and more contented, than any 
other mortal existing. * The system upon which he acts 
is, like his soul, replete with simplicity and true great- 
ness ; and seeking his felicity in innocent obscurity and 
peaceful retirement, he devotes his mind to the love of 
truth, and finds his highest happiness in a contented 
heart. 

A calm and tranquil life renders the indulgence of 
8* 



90 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

sensual pleasures less dangerous. The theatre of sen- 
suality exhibits scenes of waste and brutality, of noisy 
mirth and tumultuous riot ; presents to observation 
pernicious goblets, overloaded tables, lascivious dan- 
cing, receptacles for disease, tombs with faded roses, 
and all the dismal haunts of pain. But to him who re- 
tires in detestation from such gross delights, the joys 
of sense are of a more elevated kind : soft, sublime, 
pure, permanent, and tranquil. 

Petrarch one day inviting his friend, the cardinal 
Colonna, to visit his retirement at Vaucluse, wrote to 
him, " If you prefer the tranquillity of the country 
to the noise of the town, come here and enjoy yourself. 
Do not be alarmed by the simplicity of my table, or the 
hardness of my beds. Kings themselves are frequently 
disgusted by the luxury in which they live, and sigh 
for comforts of a more homely kind. Change of scene 
is always pleasing ; and pleasures, by occasional inter- 
ruption, frequently become more lively. If, however, 
you should not accord with these sentiments you 
may bring with you the most exquisite viands, the 
wines of Vesuvius, silver dishes, and every thing 
else that the indulgence of your senses requires. Leave 
the rest to me. I promise to provide you with a bed of 
the finest turf, a cooling shade, the music of the night- 
ingales, figs, raisins, water drawn from the freshest 
springs ; and, in short, every thing that the hand of 
Nature prepares for the lap of genuine pleasure." 

Ah ! who would not willingly renounce those things 
which only produce disquietude in the mind, for those 
which render it contented ! The art of occasionally 
diverting the imagination, taste, and passions, affords 
new and unknown enjoyments to the mind and confers 
pleasure without pain, and luxury without repentance. 
The senses deadened by satiety, revive to new enjoy- 
ments. The lively twitter of the groves, and the mur- 
mur of the brooks, yield a more delicious pleasure to 
the ear than the music of the opera, or the compositions 
of the ablest masters. The eye reposes more agreeably 
on the concave firmament, on an expanse of wa- 
ters, on mountains covered with rocks, than it 
does on all the glare of balls and assemblies. In 
short, the mind enjoys in solitude objects which 
were before insupportable, and reclining on the bosom 
of simplicity, easily renounces every vain delight. Pe- 
trarch wrote from Vaucluse to one of his friends, "I 



UPON THE HEART. 91 

have made war against my coporeal powers, for I find 
they are my enemies. My eyes, which have rendered 
me guilty of so many follies, are now confined to the 
view of a single woman, old, black, and sunburnt. If 
Helen, or Lucretia had possessed such a face, Troy 
would never have been reduced to ashes, nor Tarquin 
driven from the empire of the world. But, to com- 
pensate these defects, she is faithful, submissive, and 
industrious. She passes whole days in the fields, her 
shrivelled skin defying the hottest rays of the sun. 
My wardrobe still contains fine clothes, but I never 
wear them ; and you would take me for a common la- 
borer or a simple shepherd ; I, who formerly was so 
anxious about my dress. But the reasons which then 
prevailed, no longer exist: the fetters by which I was 
enslaved are broken: the eyes which I was anxious 
to please are shut ; and if they were still open, they 
would not perhaps, now be able to maintain the same 
empire over my heart." 

Solitude, by stripping worldly objects of the false 
splendor in which fancy arrays them, dispels ail vain 
ambition from the mind. Accustomed to rural delights 
and indifferent to every other kind of pleasure, a wise 
man no longer thinks high ofiices and worldly advance- 
ment worthy of his desires. A noble Roman was 
overwhelmed with tears on being obliged to accept of 
the consulship, because it would deprive him for one 
year of the opportunity of cultivating his fields. Cin- 
cinnatus, who was called from the plough to the su- 
preme command of the Roman legions, defeated the 
enemies of his country, added to it new provinces, made 
his triumphal entry into Rome, and at the expiration 
of sixteen days returned to his plough. It is true, that 
the inmate of an humble cottage, who is forced to earn 
his daily bread by labor, and the owner of a spacious 
mansion, for whom every luxury is provided, are not 
held in equal estimation by mankind. But let the man 
who has experienced both these situations, be asked 
under which of them he felt the most content. The 
cares and inquietudes of the palace are innumerably 
greater than those of the cottage. In the former, dis- 
content poisons every enjoyment; and its superfluity 
is only misery in disguise. The princes of Germany 
do not digest all the palatable poison which their cooks 
prepare, so well as a peasant upon the heaths of Lim- 
bourg digests his buck- wheat pie And those who 



92 INFLUENCE OP SOLITUDE 

may differ from me in this opinion, will be forced to ac- 
knowledge, that there is great truth in the reply which 
a pretty French country girl, made to a young noble- 
man, who solicited her to abandon her rustic taste, and 
retire with him to Paris : " Ah ! my lord, the further 
we remove from ourselves, the greater is our distance 
from happiness." 

Solitude, by moderating the selfish desires of the 
heart and expelling ambition from the breast, becomes 
a real asylum to the disappointed statesman or discard- 
ed minister ; for it is not every public minister who can 
retire, like Neckar, through the portals of everlasting 
fame. Every person, indeed, without distinction, ought 
to raise his grateful hands to heaven, on being dismis- 
sed from the troubles of public life, to the calm repose 
which the cultivation of his native fields, and the care 
of his flocks and herds, afford. In France, however, 
when a minister, who has incurred the displeasure of 
his sovereign, is ordered to retire, and thereby enabled 
to visit an estate which he has decorated in the high- 
est style of rural elegance, this delightful retreat, alas ! 
being considered a place of exile, becomes intolerable 
to his mind : he no longer fancies himself its master ; 
is incapable of relishing its enchanting beauties ; re- 
pose flies from his pillow ; and turning with aversion 
from every object, he dies at length, the victim of 
spleen, petulance, and dejection. But in England it is 
just the reverse. There a minister is congratulated on 
retiring, like a man who has happily escaped from a 
dangerous malady. He feels himself still surrounded 
by many friends much more worthy than his adherents 
while in power ; for while those were bound to him by 
temporary considerations of interest, these are attached 
to him by real and permanent esteem. Thanks, gene- 
rous Britons ! for the examples you have given to us of 
men sufficiently bold and independent to weigh events 
in the scales of reason, and to guide themselves by the 
intrinsic and real merits of each case : for notwith- 
standing the freedom with which many Englishmen 
have arraigned the dispensations of the Supreme Be- 
ing ; notwithstanding the mockery and ridicule with 
which they have so frequently insulted virtue, good 
manners, and decorum ; there are many more among 
them, who, especially at an advanced period of their 
lives, perfectly understand the art of living by them- 
selves'; and in their tranquil and delightful villas think 



UPON THE HEART. 93 

with more dignity, and live with more real happiness, 
than the haughtiest noble in the zenith of his power. 

Of the ministers who retire from the administration 
of public affairs, the majority finish their days in culti- 
vating their gardens, in improving their estates, and, 
like the excellent de la Roche, at Spire, certainly 
possess more content with the shovel and the rake, 
than they enjoyed in the most prosperous hours in their 
administration. 

It has, indeed, been said, that observations like these 
are common to persons who, ignorant of the manners 
of the world, and the characters of men, love to mora- 
lize on, and recommend a contempt of, human great- 
ness; but that rural innocence, the pure and simple 
pleasures of nature, and an uninterrupted repose, are 
very seldom the companions of this boasted solitude. 
Those who maintain this opinion, assert, that man, 
though surrounded with difficulties, and obliged to em- 
ploy every art and cunning to attain his ends, feels 
with his success the pleasing power which attaches to 
the character of master, and fondly indulges in the ex- 
ercise of sovereignty. Enabled to create aad to des- 
troy, to plant and to root up, to make alterations when 
and where he pleases, he may grub up a vineyard, and 
plant an English grove on its site ; erect hills where 
hills never were seen ; level eminences to the ground ; 
compel the stream to flow as his inclination shall di- 
rect ; force woods and shrubberies to grow where he 
pleases ; graft or lop as it shall strike his fancy ; open 
views and shut out boundaries ; construct ruins where 
buildings never existed; erect temples of which he 
alone is the high priest ; and build hermitages in which 
he may seclude himself at pleasure. It is said, howev- 
er, that this is not a reward for the restraints he for- 
merly experienced, but a natural inclination : for that 
a minister must be, from the habits of his life, fond 
of command and sovereignty, whether he continues at 
the head of an extensive empire, or directs the manage- 
ment of a poultry yard. 

It would most undoubtedly discover a great igno- 
rance of the world, and of the nature of man, to con- 
tend that it is necessary to renounce all the inclinations 
of the human heart, in order to enjoy the advantages 
of solitude. That wnkm nature has implanted in the 
human breast must there remain. If, therefore a min- 
^ter 8 in his retirement, is not satiated with the exer- 



94 



INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE. 



cise of power and authority, but still fondly wishes for 
command, let him require obedience from his chickens, 
provided such a gratification is essential to his happi- 
ness and tends to suppress the desire of again exposing 
himself to those tempests and shipwrecks which he can 
only avoid in the safe harbor of rural life. An ex-minis- 
ter must sooner or later, learn to despise the appearances 
of human greatness, when he discovers that true great- 
ness frequently begins at that period of life which states- 
men are apt to consider a dreary void ; that the regret 
of being no longer able to do more good, is only ambi- 
tion in disguise ; and that the inhabitants of the country, 
in cultivating their cabbages and potatoes, are a hun- 
dred times happier than the greatest minister. 

Nothing contributes more to the advancement of 
earthly felicity, than a reliance on those maxims which 
teach us to do as much good as possible, and to take 
things just as we find, them ; for it is certainly true that 
no characters are so unhappy as those who are continu- 
ally finding fault with every thing they see. My barber 
at Hanover, while he was preparing to shave me. ex- 
claimed, with a deep sigh, "It is terribly hot to day," 
" You place heaven," said I to him, "in great diffi- 
culties. For these nine months last past, you have 
regularly told me every other day, It is terribly cold to 
day." Cannot the Almighty, then any longer govern 
the universe, without these gentlemen barbers finding 
something to be disconted with ? " Is it not," I asked 
him, " much better to take the seasons as they change, 
and to receive with equal gratitude, from the hand of 
God, the winter's cold, and the summer's warmth V 9 
" Oh ! certainly," replied the barber. 

Competency, and content, therefore, may in general, 
be considered as the basis of earthly happiness ; and 
solitude, in many instances, favors both the one and the 
other. 

Solitude not only refines the enjoyments of friendship, 
but enables us to acquire friends from whom -nothing 
can alienate our souls, and to whose arms we never fly 
in vain. 

The friends of Petrarch sometimes apologized to him 
for their long absence. " It is impossible for us," said 
they, " to follow your example ; the life you lead at 
Vaucluse is contrary to human nature. In winter you 
g)t like an owl in the chimney corner. In summer 



b'PON THE HEART. 95 

you are running incessantly about the fields." Pe- 
trarch smiled at these observations. " These people," 
said he, "consider the pleasures of the world as the 
supreme good ; and cannot bear the idea of renouncing 
them. I have friends whose society is extremely 
agreeable to me:- they are of all ages, and of every 
country. They have distinguished themselves both in 
the cabinet and in the field, and obtained high honors 
for their knowledge of the sciences. It is easy to gain 
access to them, for they are always at my service ; and 
I admit them to my company, and dismiss thern from 
it whenever I please. They are never troublesome, but 
immediately answer every question I ask them. Some 
relate to me the events of past ages, while others reveal 
to me the secrets of nature. Some teach me how to live, 
and others how to die. Some, by their vivacity, drive 
away my cares, and exhilirate my spirits ; while others 
give fortitude to my mind, and teach me the important 
lesson how to restrain my desires, and to depend on 
myself. They open to me, in short, the various ave- 
nues of all the arts and sciences ; and upon their infor- 
mation I safely rely in all emergencies. In return for 
all these services, they only ask me to accommodate 
them with a convenient chamber in some corner of my 
humble habitation, where they may repose in peace : 
for these friends are more delighted with the tranquil- 
lity of retirement, than with the tumults of society." 
'Love ! the most precious gift of heaven, 

" The cordial drop Heav'n in our cup has thrown, 
To make the bitter load oflife go down," 



appears to merit a distinguished rank among the ad- 
vantages of solitude. 

Love voluntarily unites itself with the aspect of 
beautiful nature. The view of a pleasing landscape 
makes the heartbeat with the tenderest emotions. The 
lonely mountain and the silent grove increase the sus- 
ceptibility of the female bosom, inspire the mind with 
rapturous enthusiasm, and, sooner or later, draw aside 
and subjugate the heart. 

Women feel the pure and tranquil pleasures of rural 
life with a higher sensibility than men. *They enjoy 
more exquisitely the beauties of a lonely walk ? the 
freshness of a shady forest, and admire with higher 



93 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

ecstacy the charms of nature. Solitude is to them the 
school of true philosophy. In England, at least, where 
the face of the country is so beautiful, and where the 
taste of its inhabitants is hourly adding to it new em- 
bellishments, the love of rural solitude is certainly 
stronger in the women than the men. A nobleman 
who employs the day in riding over his estates or in 
following the hounds, does not enjoy the pleasures of 
rural life with the same delight as his lady, who devotes 
her time, in her romantic pleasure grounds, to needle 
work, or to the reading of some instructive, interesting 
work. In this happy country, indeed, where the people, 
in general, love the enjoyments of the mind, the calm 
of rural retirement is doubly valuable, and its delights 
more exquisite. The learning which has of late years 
so considerably increased among the ladies of Germany, 
is certainly to be attributed to their love of retirement ; 
for, among those who pass their time in the country, 
we rind much more true wit and rational sentiment, 
than among the beaux esprits of the metropolis. 

Minds, indeed, apparently insensible in the atmos- 
phere of a metropolis, unfold themselves with rapture 
in the country. This is the reason why the return of 
spring fills every tender breast with love. "What can 
more^resemble love," says a celebrated German philoso- 
pher, " than the feeling with which my soul is inspired 
at the sight of this magnificent valley, thus illuminated 
by the setting sun I" Rousseau felt an inexpressible 
delight on viewing the first appearances of spring : the 
earliest blossoms of that charming season gave new life 
and vigor to his mind ; the tenderest dispositions of his 
heart were awakened and augmented by the soft ver- 
dure it presented to his eyes ; and the charms of his mis- 
tress were assimilated with the beauties that surrounded 
him on every side. The view of an extensive and pleas- 
ing prospect softened his sorrows ; and he breathed his 
sighs with exquisite delight amidst the rising flowers of 
his garden, and the rich fruits of his orchard. 

Lovers constantly seek the rural grove to indulge, in 
the tranquillity of retirement, the uninterrupted contem- 
plation of the beloved object which forms the sole hap- 
piness of their lives. Of what importance to them are 
all the transactions of the world, or, indeed, any thing 
that does not tend to indulge the passion that fills their 
hearts ? Silent groves, embowering glades, or the lone- 
ly borders of murmuring streams, where they may free- 



UPON THE HEART. 97 

ly resign themselves to their fond reflections, are the 
only confidants of their souls. A lovely shepherdess, 
offering her fostering bosom to the infant she is nursing, 
while at her side Tier well-beloved partner sits dividing 
with her his morsel of hard black bread, is an hundred 
times more happy than all the fops of the town : for 
love inspires his mind, in the highest degree, with all 
that is elevated, delightful and affecting in nature ; and 
warms the coldest bosoms with the greatest sensibility 
and the highest rapture. 

Love's softest images spring up anew in solitude. 
The remembrance of these emotions which the first 
blush of conscious tenderness, the first gentle pres- 
sure of the hand, the first dread of interruption, create, 
recurs incessantly ! Time, it is said, extinguishes the 
flame of love ; but solitude renews the fire, and calls 
forth those agents which lie long concealed, and only 
wait a favorable moment to display their powers. The 
whole course of youthful feeling again beams forth ; 
and the mind—- delicious recollection ! — fondly retrac- 
ing the first affection of the heart, fills the bosom with 
an indelible sense of those high ecstacies which a con- 
noisseur has said, with as much truth as energy, pro- 
claim, for the first time, that happy discovery, that for- 
tunate moment, when two lovers first perceive their 
mutual fondness. 

Herder mentions a certain cast of people in Asia, 
whose mythology thus divided the felicities of eternity. 
" That men, after death, were, in the celestial regions, 
immediately the objects of female love during the course 
of a thousand years ; first by tender looks, then by a 
balmy kiss, and afterwards, by immediate alliance." 

It was this noble and sublime species of affection 
that Wieland, in the warmest moments of impassioned 
youth felt for an amiable, sensible, and beautiful lady 
of Zurich : for that extraordinary genius was perfectly 
satisfied, that the metaphysical effects of love, begin 
with the first sigh, and expire, to a certain degree, with 
the first kiss. I one day asked this young lady when 
it was that Wieland had saluted her for the first time 1 
" Wieland," replied the amiable girl, " did not kiss my 
hand for the first time until four years after our acquain- 
tance commenced." 

Young persons, in general, however, do not, like 
Wieland, adopt the mystic refinements of love. Yield- 
ing to the sentiments which the passion inspires, and 
9 



Vo INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

less acquaintaned with its metaphysical nature, tliey 
feel at an earlier age, in the tranquillity of solitude, 
that irresistible impulse to the union of the sexes which 
the God of nature has so strongly implanted in the 
human breast. 

A lady who resided in great retirement, at a romantic 
cottage upon the banks of the lake of Geneva, had three 
innocent and lovely daughters. The eldest was about 
fourteen years of age, the youngest was about nine, 
when they were presented with a tame bird, which hop- 
ped and flew about the chamber the whole day, and 
formed the sole amusement and pleasure of their lives. 
Placing themselves on their knees, they offered, with 
unwearied delight, their little favorite, pieces of biscuit 
from their fingers, and endeavored, by every means, to 
induce him to fly to, and nestle in, their bosoms ; but the 
bird, the moment he had got the biscuit, with cunning 
coyness eluded their hopes, and hopped away. The lit- 
tle favorite at length died. A year after this event, 
the youngest of the three sisters said to her mother, 
" Oh, I remember that dear little bird ! I wish, mamma, 
you could procure me such a one to play with." " Oh ! 
no." replied her elder sister, " I should like to have a 
little dog to play with better than any thing. I could 
catch a little dog, take him on my knee, hug him in my 
arms. A bird affords me no pleasure; he perches a 
little while on my finger, than flies away, and there is 
no catching him again: but a little dog, oh! what 
pleasure ..." 

I shall never forget the poor religieuse in whose apart- 
ment I found a breeding cage of canary birds, nor for- 
give myself for having burst into a fit of laughter at the 
discovery. It was, alas ! the suggestion of nature ; and 
who can resist what nature suggests? This mystic 
wandering of religious minds, this celestial epilepsy of 
love ? this premature effect of solitude, is only the fond 
application of natural inclination raised superior to all 
others. 

Absence and tranquillity appear so favorable to the 
indulgence of this pleasing passion, that lovers fre- 
quently quit the beloved object, to reflect in solitude on 
her charms. Who does not recollect to have read, in 
the Confessions of Rousseau, the story related by Ma- 
dame de Luxemberg, of a lover who quitted the pres- 
ence of his mistress, only that he might have the pleas- 
ure of writing to her. Rousseau replied to Madame de 



UPON THE HEART. 99 

Lnxemberg, that he wished he had been that man ; and 
his wish was founded on a perfect knowledge of the 
passion : fgr who has ever been in love, and does not 
know that there are moments when the pen is capable 
of expressing the fine feelings of the heart with much 
greater effect than the voice, with its miserable organ 
of speech ? The tongue, even in its happiest elocution, 
is never so persuasive as the speaking eyes, when lovers 
gaze with silent ecstacy on each other's charms. 

Lovers not only express, but feel their passion with 
higher ecstacy and happiness in solitude than in any 
other situation. What fashionable lover ever painted 
his passion for a lovely mistress with such laconic ten- 
derness and effect, as the village chorister of Hanover 
did on the death of a young and beautiful country girl 
with whom he was enamored, when, after erecting 
in the cemetry of the cathedral, a sepulchral stone to 
her memory, he carved, in an artless manner, the figure 
of a blooming rose on its front, and inscribed beneath 
it these words : Cest ainsi qiCellefut. 

It was at the feet of those rocks which overhung the 
celebrated retreat at Vaucluse, that Petrarch composed 
his finest sonnets to deplore the absence, or to complain 
of the cruelty of his beloved Laura. The Italians are 
of opinion, that when love inspired his muse, his poet- 
ry soared far beyond that of any poet who ever wrote 
before or since his time, either in the Greek, the Latin, 
or the Tuscan languages. " Ah ! how soft and tender 
is this language of the heart I" they exclaim. " Pe- 
trarch aloiie was acquainted with its power: he has 
added to the three graces a fourth— the grace of deli- 



cacy 



5? 



Love, however, when indulged in rural solitude or 
amidst the romantic scenery of an ancient castle, and, 
assisted by the ardent imagination of impetuous youth, 
frequently assumes a more bold and violent character. 
Religious enthusiasm, blended with a saturnine disposi- 
tion, forms, in effervescent minds, a sublime and extra- 
ordinary compound of the feelings of the heart. A 
youthful lover of this description, when deprived of the 
smiles of his mistress, takes his first declaration of love 
from the text of the apocalypse and thinks his passion 
an eternal melancholy ; but when he is inclined to 
sharpen the dart within his breast, his inspired mind 
views in the beloved object the fairest model of divine 
perfection, 



100 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

The lovers of this romantic cast, placed in some 
ancient solitary castle, soar far beyond the common 
tribe, and, as their ideas refine, their passions become 
proportionably sublime. Surrounded by stupendous 
rocks, and impressed by the awful stilness of the scene, 
the beloved youth is considered not merely as an ami- 
able and virtuous man, but as a god. The inspired 
mind of the fond female fancies her bosom to be the 
sanctuary of love, and conceives her affection for the 
youthful idol of her heart to be an emanation from 
heaven: a ray of the Divine Presence. Ordinary lov- 
ers, without doubt, in spite of absence, unite their souls, 
write by every post, seize 'all occasions to converse with, 
or hear from, each other ; but our more sublime and 
exalted female introduces into her romance of passion 
every butterfly she meets with, and all the feathered 
songsters of the groves ; and, except in the object of 
her love, no longer sees any thing as it really is. 
Reason and sense no longer guide : the refinements of 
love direct all her movements ; she tears the world from 
its poles, and the sun from its axis ; and to prove that 
all she does is right, establishes for herself and her lov- 
er a new gospel, and a new system of morality. 

A lover, separated, perhaps, forever, from a mistress 
who has made the most important sacrifices to his hap- 
piness ; who was his only consolation in affliction, his 
only comfort in calamity ; whose kindness supported 
his sinking fortitude ; who remained his faithful and 
his only friend in dire adversity and domestic sorrow ; 
seeks, as his sole resource, a slothful solitude. Nights 
passed in sleepless agonies ; a distaste of life, a desire 
of death, an abhorrence of all society, and. a love of 
dreary seclusion, drive him, day, after day. wandering, 
as chance may direct, though the most solitary retire- 
ments far from the hated traces of mankind. Were he, 
however, to wander from the Elbe to the lake of Gene- 
va ; were he to seek relief in the frozen confines of the 
north, or the burning regions of the west, to the utmost 
extremities of the earth or seas, he would still be like 
the hind described by Virgil: 

" Stung with the stroke and madding with the pain^ 
She wildly flies from wood to wood in vain 5 
Shoots o'er the Cretan lawn with many a bound, 
The cleaving dart still rankling in the wound." 

Petrarch, on returning to Vaucluse, felt with new and 
increasing stings the passion which perturbed his breast. 



tTPON THE HEART. 101 

Immediately on his arrival at this sequestered spot, the 
image of his beloved Laura incessantly haunted his 
imagination. He beheld her at all times, in every place, 
and under a thousand different forms. " Three times 
in the middle of the night when every door was closed, 
she appeared to me," says he, " at the feet of my bed, 
with a steadfast look, as if confident of the power of her 
charms. Fear spread a chilling dew over all my limbs. 
My blood thrilled through my veins towards my heart. 
If any one had then entered my apartment with a can- 
dle, they would have beheld me as pale as death, with 
every mark of terror on my face. Rising before the 
break of day, with trembling limbs, from my disordered 
bed, and hastily leaving my house, where every thing 
created alarm, I climbed to the summit of the rocks, 
and ran wildly through the woods, casting my eyes 
incessantly on every side, to see if the form which had 
haunted my repose, still pursued me. Alas ! I could 
find no asylum. Places the most sequestered, where 
I fondly flattered myself that I should be alone, pre- 
sented her continually to my mind; and I beheld her 
sometimes issuing from the hollow trunk of a tree, 
from the concealed source of a spring, or from the 
dark cavity of a broken rock. Fear rendered me in- 
sensible, and I neither know what I did, or where I 
went." 

The heart of Petrarch was frequently stimulated by 
ideas of voluptuous pleasure, even among the rocks of 
Vaucluse, where he sought an asylum from love and 
Laura. He soon, however, banished sensuality from 
his mind, and, by refining his passion, acquired that vi- " 
vacity and heavenly purity which breathes in every line 
of those immortal lyrics he composed among the rocks. 
But the city of Avignon, in which the object thus ten- 
derly beloved resided, was not sufficiently distant from 
the place of his retreat, and he visited it too frequently. 
A passion indeed, like that which Petrarch felt, leaves 
the bosom, even when uncorrupted, totally incapable 
of tranquillity. It is a violent fever of the soul, which 
inflicts upon the body a complication of painful disor- 
ders. Let lovers, therefore, while they possess some 
control over the passion which fills their breasts, seat 
themselves on the borders of a river, and reflect that 
love, like the stream, sometimes precipitates itself with 
violence down the rocks ; and sometimes flowing with 
soft tranquillity along the plain, meanders through mea- 



102 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

dows, and loses itself beneath the peaceful shades of 
solitary bowers. 

The tranquillity of solitude, however, may, to a mind 
disposed to resign itself with humility to all the dis- 
pensations of heaven, be found not disadvantageous to 
the perturbations of love. A lover whom death has 
bereaved of the dear object of his affection, seeks only 
those places which his favorite inhabited ; considers 
every other as desert and forlorn ; and expects that death 
alone is able to stop the torrent of his tears. Such an 
indulgence of sorrow, however, cannot be called a res- 
ignation to the will of God. A lover of this description 
is attached solely to the irrecoverable object of his in- 
creasing sorrows. His distracted mind fondly hopes 
that she may still return ; he thinks he hears her soft 
enchanting voice in every breeze ; he sees her lovely 
form approaching, and opens his expecting arms to 
clasp her once again to his still throbbing breast. But 
he finds, alas ! his hopes are vain : the fancy-breath- 
ing form eludes his grasp, and convinces him that the 
delightful vision was only the light and love-formed 
phantom of his sorrow-sickened mind. A sad remem- 
brance of her departed spirit is the only comfort of his 
lingering life : he flies to the tomb where her mortal 
remains were deposited, plants roses round her shrine, 
waters them with his tears, cultivates them with the 
tenderest care, kisses them as emblems of her blushing 
cheeks, and tastes, with sighing transports, their balmy 
fragrance as the fancied odor of her ruby lips. 

It must afford infinite pleasure to every philosophic 
mind, to reflect on the victory which the virtuous Pe- 
trarch gained over the passion that assailed his heart. 
During his retreat into Italy from love and Laura, his 
friends in France used every endeavor to induce him 
to return. One of them wrote to him : — " What demon 
possesses you ; — How could you quit a country in which 
you indulged all the propensities of youth, and where 
the graceful figure which you formerly adorned with 
so much care, procured you such unbounded admira- 
tion ? — How can you live thus exiled from Laura, whom 
you love with so much tenderness, and whose heart is 
so deeply afflicted by your absence ?" 

Petrarch replied : " Your anxiety is vain : I am re- 
solved to continue where I am. I ride here safely at 
anchor ; and all the hurricanes of eloquence shall never 
drive me from it. How then can you expect to per- 



UPON THE HEART. 103 

snade me to change this resolution, merely by placing 
before my eyes the deviations of my youth which £ 
ought to forget ; by describing an illicit passion which 
left me no other resource than a precipitate flight ; and 
by extolling the meretricious advantages of a handsome 
person, which too long occupied my attention. ' These 
are follies I must no longer think of. I am now rapidly 
approaching toward the last goal on the course of life. 
Objects more serious and important now occupy my 
thoughts. God forbid, that, listening to your flattering 
observations, I should again throw myself into the 
snares of love, again put on a yoke which so severely 
galled me !— ~ The natural levity of youth apologizes. 
m some degree, for the indiscretions it creates ; but I 
should despise myself, if I could now be tempted to 
revisit either the bower of love, or the theatre of ambi- 
tion. Your suggestions, however, have produced a 
proper effect ; for I consider them as4he oblique cen- 
sures of a friend upon my past misconduct* The so- 
licitudes of the gay and busy world no longer disturb 
my mind ; for my heart has tenaciously rooted all its 
fibres in this delightful solitude, where I rove at* large, 
free and unconstrained, without inquietude or care. In 
summer I repose upon the verdant turf beneath the 
shade of some embowering tree, or saunter along the 
enamelled boarders of a cool, refreshing stream. At 
the approacn of autumn I seek the woods, and join the 
muses' train. This mode of life is surely preferable to 
a life at court, where nothing but disgusting jealousies 
and corroding cares exist. I have now, in short, no 
wish, except that, when death relieves me both from 
pleasure and from pain, I may recline my head upon 
the bosom of a friend, whose eyes, while he performs 
the last office of closing mine, will drop a deploring 
tear upon my departing spirit, and convey my remains, 
with friendly care, to a decent tomb in my native coun- 
try." 

These were the sentiments of the philosopher : but, 
after a short interval me man returned once again to 
the city of Avignon, and only visited his retreat at 
Vaucluse occasionally. 

Petrarch, however', by these continued endeavors to 
subdue the violence of his passion, acquired a sublimi- 
ty and richness of imagination, which distinguished 
his character, and gave him an ascendency over the 
age in which he lived, greater than any of the literati 



104 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

have since attained. To use the expression of the 
poet, he was capable of passing, with the happiest faci- 
lity, 

" From grave to gay, from lively to severe : 

and was enabled, as occasion required, to conceive the 
boldest enterprises, and to execute them with the most 
heroic courage f He who languished, sighed, and even 
wept with unmanly softness, at the feet of his mistress, 
breathing only the tender and affectionate language of 
gentle love, no sooner turned his thoughts toward the 
transactions of Rome, than he assumed a higher tone, 
and not only wrote, but acted with all the strength and 
spirit of the Augustan age. Monarchs have relinquish- 
ed the calls of hunger, and the charms of rest, to in- 
dulge the tender luxuries his love-lorn muse afforded. 
But at a more advanced age he was no longer a sighing 
minstrel, chaunting amorous verses to a relentless fair ; 
he was no longer an effeminate slave, that kissed the 
chains of an imperious mistress, who treated him with 
disdain : he became a zealous republican, w T ho spread 
by his writings the spirit of liberty throughout Italy, 
and sounded a loud alarm against tyranny and tyrants. 
■. Great as a statesman, profound and judicious as a pub- 
lic minister, he w r as consulted in the most important 
political transactions of Europe, and frequently employ- 
ed in the most arduous and difficult negotiations. Zea- 
lously active in the cause of humanity, he anxiously 
endeavored, on occasions^ to extinguish the torch of 
discord. The greatest princes, conscious of his extraor- 
dinary genius, solicited his company, and endeavored, 
by listening to his precepts, to learn the noble art of 
rendering their countries respectable, and their people 
happy. 

These traits of Petrarch's character clearly evince 
that, oppressed as he was by the passion of love, he 
derived great advantages from solitude. The retire- 
ment at Yaucluse was not, as is commonly imagined, a 
pretence to be nearer the person of Laura, for Laura re- 
sided altogether at Avignon ; but a means of avoiding the 
frown of his mistress, and of flying from the contagion 
of a corrupt court. Seated in hislittle garden, which 
was situated at the foot of a lofty mountain, and sur- 
rounded by a rapid stream, his soul rose superior to 
the adversities of his fate.* His disposition, indeed, was 
naturally restless and unquiet ; but in his tranquil mo- 



UPON THE HEART. 105 

ments, a sound judgment, joined to an exquisite sensi- 
bility, enabled him to enjoy the delights of solitude with 
singular advantage ; and to find in his retreat at Vau- 
cluse, the temple of peace, the residence of calm repose, 
and a safe harbor against all the tempests of the soul, a 

The flame of love, therefore, although it cannot be 
entirely extinguished, may be greatly purified and re- 
fined by solitude. Man indeed, ought not to extirpate 
the passions which the God 01 nature has planted in 
the human heart, but to direct them to their proper 
ends. 

To avoid such miseries as Petrarch endured, the 
pleasures of retirement should be shared with some 
amiable female, who, better than the cold precepts of 
philosophy, will beguile or banish, by the charms of 
conversation, all the cares and torments of life. 

It has been said by a very sensible author, that " the 
presence of one thinking being like ourselves, whose 
bosom glows with sympathy, and whose affection we 
possess, so far from destroying the advantages of soli- 
tude, renders them more favorable. If, like me you 
owe your happiness to the fond attention of a wife, you 
will soon be induced, by her kindness, by her tender 
and unreserved communication of every sentiment of 
her mind, every feeling of her heart, to forget the so- 
ciety of the world ; and your happiness will be as pleas- 
ingly diversified, as the employments and vicissitudes 
of your lives." 

The orator who speaks so eloquently must have felt 
with exquisite sensibility the pleasures he describes 9 
" Here," says he, " every kind expression is remember- 
ed ; the emotions of one heart correspond with those of 
the other; every thought is treasured up; every tes- 
timony of affection is returned ; the happy pair enjoy 
in each other's company all the pleasures of the mind ; 
and there is no felicity which does not communicate 
itself to their hearts. To beings thus united by the 
sincerest affection, and the closest" friendship, every 
thing that is said or done, every wish, and every event, 
becomes mutually important. No jealous fears, no en- 
vious stings, disturb their happiness ; faults are pointed 
out with cautions tenderness and good nature; looks 
bespeak the inclinations of the soul ; every wish and 
every desire is anticipated 5 every view and intention 
assimilated ; and, the sentiments of one, conforming 
to those of the other, each rejoices with cordiality at 
the smallest advantage which the other acquires. 



106 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

Thus it is that the solitude which we share with an 
amiable object produces tranquillity, satisfaction, and 
heartfelt joy ; and makes the humblest cottage a dwell- 
ing place of the purest pleasure. 

Love, in the shades of retirement, while the mind 
and the heart are in harmony with each other, inspires 
the noblest sentiments ; raises the understanding to the 
highest sphere of intellect : fills the bosom with increas- 
ed benevolence ; destroys all the seeds of vice, and me- 
liorates and extends all the virtues. By its delightful in- 
fluence the attack of ill-humor is resisted : the violence 
of our passions abated ; the bitter cup of human afflic- 
tion sweetened ; all the injuries of the world alleviated ; 
and the sweetest flowers plentifully strewed along the 
thorny paths of life. Every unhappy sufferer, whether 
the malady be of the body or the mind, derives from 
this source extraordinary comfort and consolation. At 
a time, alas ! when every thing displeased me, when 
every object was disgusting, when my sufferings had 
destroyed all the energy and vigor of my soul, when 
grief had shut from my streaming eyes the beauties of 
nature, and rendered the whole universe a dreary tomb, 
the kind attentions of a wife were capable of conveying 
a secret charm, a silent consolation to my mind. Oh ! 
nothing can render the bowers of retirement so serene 
and comfortable, or can so sweetly soften all our woes, 
as a conviction that woman is not indifferent to our 
fate. 

Solitude, it is true, will not completely heal every 
wound which this imperious passion is capable of in- 
flicting on the human heart ; but it teaches us to endure 
our pains without wishing for relief, and enables us to 
convert them into soft sorrow and plaintive grief. 

Both sexes in early youth, but particularly females 
from fifteen to eighteen years of age, who possess high 
sensibilities, and lively imaginations, generally feel 
during the solitude of rural retirement, a soft and pleas- 
ing melancholy, when their bosoms begin to heave with 
the first propensities of love. They wander every 
where in search of a beloved object, and sigh for one 
alone, long before the heart is fixed in its affection, or 
the mind conscious of its latent inclination. I have 
frequently observed this disposition unaccompanied by 
any sympton of ill health. It is an original malady. 
Rousseau felt its influence at Vevay, upon the borders 
of the lake of Geneva. ' My heart," says he, " rushed 



UPON THE HEART, 107 

with ardor from my bosom into a thousand innocent 
felicities ; and melting into tenderness,- 1 sighed and 
wept like a child. How frequently, stopping to indulge 
my feelings, and seating myself on a piece of broken 
rock, did I amuse myself with seeing my tears drop 
into the stream !" 

Retirement, however, is not equally favorable to 
every species of affliction. Some bosoms are so ex- 
quisitely alive to the sense of misfortune, that, the in- 
delible remembrance of the object of their affection 
preys upon their minds: the reading of a single line 
written by the hand they loved, freezes their blood ; 
the very sight of the tomb which has swallowed up the 
remains of all their soul held dear, is intolerable to 
their eyes. On such beings, alas ! the heavens smile in 
vain: to them the new-born flowers and the twittering 
groves, proclaiming the approach of spring and there- 
generation of vegetable nature, bring no charms ; the 
garden's variegated hues irritate their feelings ; and the 
silent retreats, from which they once expected conso- 
lation, only increase their pains. Such refined and ex- 
quisite feelings, the offspring of warm and generous 
passion, are real misfortunes ; and the malady they en- 
gender requires to be treated with the mildest attention 
and the tenderest care. 

But to minds of softer temper solitude possesses many 
powerful charms, although the losses they deplore are 
equally great. Such characters feel, indeed, a sense of 
their misfortune in its utmost possible extent, but they 
soften its acuteness by yielding to the natural mildness 
of their dispositions: they plant upon the fatal tomb 
the weeping willow and the ephemeral rose ; they erect 
mausolea : compose funeral dirges ; and render the 
very emblems of death, the means of consolation. 
Their hearts are continually occupied by the idea of 
those whom their eyes deplore ; and they exist under 
the sensations of the truest and most sincere sorrow, in 
a kind of middle state between earth and heaven. This 
species of sorrow is of the happiest kind. Far be it from 
me to suppose it in the least degree affected. But I 
call such characters happy mourners; because, from 
the very frame and texture of their constitutions, grief 
does not destroy the energy of their minds, but permits 
them to find consolation in those things which, to minds 
differently constructed, would create aversion. They 
feel a heavenly joy m pursuing employments which 



108 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

preserve the memory of those who are the subjects of 
their sorrow. 

Solitude will enable the heart to vanquish the most 
painful sense of adversity, provided the mind will 
generously lend its aid, and fix its attention to a differ- 
ent object. If men think there is any misfortune from 
which they have no other resource than despair or death 
they deceive themselves ; for despair is no resource* 
Let such men retire to their studies, and there seriously 
trace out a series of important and settled truths, and 
their tears will no longer fall; but the. weight of their 
misfortunes will grow light, and sorrow fly from their 
breasts. 

Solitude, by encouraging the enjoyments of the heart, 
by promoting domestic felicity, and by creating a taste 
for rural scenery, subdues impatience, and drives away 
ill-humor. Impatience is a stifled anger, which men si- 
lently manifest by looks and gestures, and weak minds 
ordinarily reveal by a shower of complaints. A grumbler 
is never further from his proper sphere than when he is 
in company : solitude is his only asylum. Ill-humor is 
an uneasy and insupportable condition, which the soul 
frequently falls into when soured by a number of those 
petty vexations which we daily experience in every step 
of our progress through life ; but we need only to shut 
the door against improper and disagreeable intrusions, 
to avoid this scourge of happiness. 

Vexations, indeed, of every kind, are much sooner 
quieted in the silence of retirement than in the noise 
of the world. A cheerful disposition, a placid temper, 
and well-regulated passions, will prevent worldly vexa- 
tions from interrupting our happiness. By these attain 
ments, the deepest melancholy, and most settled un- 
easiness of life, have been frequently banished from the 
heart. It is true, that the progress in this case is much 
more rapid in women than in men. The mind of a 
lively female flies immediately to happiness, while that 
of a melancholy man still creeps on with pain : the 
yielding bosoms of the fair are easily elevated or de- 
pressed. These effects, it is true, may be produced by 
means less abstracted than solitude ; by any thing that 
strikes the senses, and penetrates the heart. Men, on 
the contrary, augment the disease, and fix it more firm- 
ly in the bosom, by brooding over its cause and con- 
sequences, and are obliged to apply the most efficacious 
remedies, with unshaken constancy, to effect a cure ; 



UPON THE HEART. 109 

for feeble prescriptions are, in such cases, of no avail. 
The only chance, indeed, of success, is by exerting eve- 
ry endeavor to place the body under the regimen of 
the mind. Vigorous minds frequently banishlhe most 
inveterate evils, or form a powerful shield against all 
the darts of fate, and, by braving every danger, drive 
away those feelings by which others are irritated and 
destroyed; they boldly turn Hheir eyes from what 
things are, to what they ought to be ; and with deter- 
mined resolution support the bodies they are designed 
to animate ; while weak minds surrender every thing 
committed to their care. 

The soul, however, always follows what is most 
agreeable to its ruling passion. Worldly men general- 
ly delight in gaming, feasting, and debauchery ; while 
those who are fond of solitude feel, from a conscious- 
ness of its advantages, no enjoyments equal to those its 
peaceful shades afford. 

I now conclude my reflections upon the advantages 
of Solitude to the Heart. May they give greater cur- 
rency to useful sentiments, to consolatory truths, and 
contribute in some degree to diffuse the enjoyment of a 
happiness which is so much within our reach ! 



CHAPTER IV. 

The General Advantages of Retirement. 

Retirement engages the affections of men whenever 
it holds up a picture of tranquillity to their view. 

The doleful and monotonous sound of the clock of a 
sequestered monastery, the silence of nature in a still 
night, the pure air on the summit of a high mountain, 
the thick darkness of an aged forest, the sight of a tem- 
ple fallen into ruins, inspire the soul with a soft melan- 
choly, and banish all recollection of the world and its 
concerns. 

The man who cannot hold a friendly correspondence 
with his own heart ; who derives no comfort from the 
reflections of his mind ; who dreads the idea of medita- 
tion, and is fearful of passing a single moment with 
himself, looks with equal dread on solitude and on 
death. He endeavors to enjoy all the voluptuousness 
which the world affords ; drains the pernicious cup of 
10 



210 GENERAL ADVANTAGES, 

pleasure to its dregs ; and, until the dreadful moment 
approaches when he beholds his nerves shattered, and 
ail the powers of his soul destroyed, has not the cour- 
age to make the delayed confession. " I am tired of the 
world and all its idle follies !" 

The legions of fantastic fashions to which a man of 
pleasure is obliged to sacrifice his time, impair the ra- 
tional faculties of his mind, and destroy the native 
energies of his soul. Forced continually to lend himself 
to the performance, of a thousand little trifles a thou- 
sand mean absurdities, he becomes by habit frivolous 
and absurd. The face of things no longer wears its true 
and genuine aspect ; and his depraved taste loses all re- 
lish for rational entertainment or substantial pleasure. 
The infatuation seizes on his brain, and his corrupted 
heart teems with idle fancies and vain imaginations. 

The inevitable consequences of this ardent pursuit of 
entertainments and diversions are langor and dissat- 
isfaction. He has drained the cup of pleasure to the 
last drop, who is at length obliged to confess that all 
his hopes are fled ; who finds disappointment and dis- 
gust mingled with every enjoyment ; who feels astonish- 
ed at his own insensibility, and who no longer pos- 
sesses the magic of the enchantress, imagination, to 
gild and decorate the scene, calls in vain to his assis- 
tance the daughters of sensuality and intemperance : 
their caresses can no longer delight his dark and mel- 
ancholy mind : the soft and syren song of luxury no 
longer can dispel the cloud of discontent that hovers 
round hisheacL 

Behold that debilitated weak old man running after 
pleasures he can no longer enjoyN,The airs of gayety 
which he affects render him ridiculous ; his attempts 
to shine expose him to derision ; his endeavors to dis- 
play the wit and eloquence of youth betray him into 
the garrulity of old age. His conversation, filled with 
repetition and tiresome narrative, creates disgust, and 
only forces the smile of pity from the lips of his youth- 
ful rivals. To the eye of wisdom, however, who ob- 
served him through all the former periods of his life, 
sparkling in the noisy circles of extravagance and vice, 
his character always appeared the same. 

The wise man, in the midst of the most tumultuous 
pleasures, frequently retires within himself, and silently 
compares what he might do with what he is doing. Sur- 
rounded by, and even when accidentally engaged in, the 



OE RETIREMENT. HI 

excesses of intoxication, he associates only with those 
warm and generous souls whose highly elevated minds 
are drawn toward each other by the most virtuous in- 
clinations and sublime sentiments. The silent retreat 
of the mind within itself, has more than once given 
birth to enterprizes of the greatest importance and 
utility ; and it is not difficult to imagine, that some of 
the most celebrated actions of mankind were first in- 
spired among the sounds of music, or conceived amidst 
the mazes of the dance. Sensible and elevated minds 
never commune more closely with themselves than in 
•those places of public resort in which the low and vul- 
gar, surrendering themselves to illusion and caprice, be- 
come incapable of reflection, and blindly suffer them- 
selves to be overwhelmed by the surrounding torrent 
of folly and distraction. 

The unceasing pursuit of sensual enjoyment is mere- 
ly a mean used by the votaries of worldly pleasure, of 
flying from themselves ; they seize with avidity upon 
any object that promises to occupy the present hour 
agreeably, and provide entertainment for the day that is 
passing over their heads. To such characters the man 
who can invent hour after hour new schemes of pleas- 
ure and open day after day fresh sources of amuse- 
ment, is a valuable companion indeed ; he is their best, 
their only friend. Are then these lazy and luxurious vo- 
taries of sensual pleasures destitute of those abilities 
which might prevent this sacrifice of time, and, if pro- 
perly exerted, afford them relief ? Certainly not. But, 
navimr been continually led from object to object in the 
pursuit of pleasure, the assistance of others has habit- 
ually become the first want and greatest necessity of 
their lives: they have insensibly lost all power of ac- 
ting for themselves, and depend, for every object they 
see, for every sensation they feel, for every sentiment 
they entertain, on those by whom they are attended. 
This is the reason why the rich, who are seldom ac- 
quainted with any other pleasures than those of sense, 
are, in general, the most miserable of mankind. 

The nobility and courtiers of France think their en- 
joyments appear vain and ridiculous only to those who 
have not the opportunity of partaking in them ; but I 
am of a different opinion. Returning one Sunday from 
Trianon to Versailles, I perceived at a distance a number 
of people assembled upon the terrace of the castle ; and 
on a nearer approach, I beheld Louis XV. surrounded 



rl2 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

by his court, at the windows of his palace. A man 
very richly dressed, with a large pair of branching ant- 
lers fastened upon his head, whom they called the stag, 
was pursued by about a dozen others who composed 
the pack. The pursued and the pursuers leaped into 
the great canal, scrambled out again, and ran wildly 
round and round, amidst the acclamations of the assem- 
bly, who loudly clapped their hands to testify their de- 
light, and to encourage the diversion. " What can all 
this mean?" said I to a French gentleman who stood 
near me. " Sir," he replied, with a very serious coun- 
tenance, "it is for the entertainment of the court. " The 
most obscure and indigent individuals may certainly 
be much happier than these masters of mankind with 
their melancholy slaves and miserable entertainments. 

Direful condition ! Is there then no occupation what- 
soever, no useful employment, no rational recreation 
sufficiently high and dignified for such characters? — 
Are they reduced, to the melancholy condition of not 
being able to perform one good and virtuous action 
during the intervals of suspended pleasure ? Can they 
render no services to friendship, to their country, to 
themselves ? Are there no poor and miserable beings 
to whose bosom they might afford charitable comfort 
and relief? Is it, in short, impossible for such charac- 
ters in any way to improve themselves in wisdom or 
in virtue ? 

The powers of the human mind are of greater extent 
than is generally imagined. He who, either from taste 
or necessity, exercises them frequently, soon finds 
that the highest felicities of which our nature is ca- 
pable, reside entirely within ourselves. The wants of 
life are, for the greater part, merely artificial ; and al- 
though sensual objects contribute most efficaciously to 
our happiness and delight, it is not because they are 
indispensably necessary for this purpose, but because 
they have been rendered desirable by habit ; and, from 
the pleasures they produce, we flatter ourselves that 
they are absolutely necessary to our felicity. If, howev- 
er, we had fortitude to resist their charms, and courage 
to seek our happiness in ourselves, we should frequent- 
ly find in our own bosoms a greater variety of resour- 
ces than all the objects of sense are capable of afford- 
ing. 

Amusements, indeed, may sometimes be found in 
those places to which the sexes resort merely to see 
and to be seen. The eye may be occasionally gratified by 



I 



OF RETIREMENT. 113 

the sight of objects really agreeable ; the ear may listen 
to observations truly flattering. Lively thoughts and 
sensible remarks now and then prevail. Characters 
equally amiable and interesting occasionally mix 
among the group. We may form acquaintance with 
men of distinguished merit, whom we should not oth- 
erwise have had an oportunity of knowing ; and meet 
with women of amiable qualities, and irreproachable 
conduct, whose refined conversation ravishes the ear 
with a delight equal to that with which their exquisite 
beauty captivates the heart. But by what a number 
of painful sensations must the chance of receiving these 
pleasures be purchased ! Those whom reason or dis- 
gust restrain from mixing in the idle dissipations of 
ife, cannot see without a sigh, the gay conceit, the airy 
confidence, the blind arrogance, and the bold loquacity, 
with which these votaries of worldly pleasure proclaim 
a felicity which is almost invariably deceitful ; nor 
oberve without a sigh, the extravagant joy of so many 
great men, and the absurd airs of so many gray-headed 
children. 

Honor, fame, and pleasure are conceived to accom- 
pany an invitation to the board of luxury ; although 
disease, with leaden sceptre, is known to preside ; and 
reproach and calumny are indiscriminately cast upon 
the purest characters. But he who feels the least en- 
ergy of mind, turns with aversion from all society 
tyhich tends to weaken its effect; and finds the sma- 
llest fare, enjoyed with freedom and content amidst a 
nappy and affectionate family, ten thousand times 
more agreeable then the rarest dainty, and the richest 
wine, with a society where he must sit ceremoniously 
silent in compliment to some reputed wit, from whose 
lips nothing but absurdities and nonsense proceed. 

The spiritless and crowded societies of the world, 
where a round of low and trifling amusements fills the 
hour of entertainment, and where to display a pomp of 
dress and levity of manners is the only ambition, 
may afford some pleasure to those light and empty minds 
who are impatient of the weight of idleness; but the 
wise man, who occasionally resorts to them in search 
of rational conversation or temporary amusement, and 
only finds a dull unvaried jargon, and a tiresome round 
of compliments will turn with aversion from these tem- 
ples of false delight, and exclaim, in the language of 
the poet, 

10* 



114 GENERAL ADVANTAGE3 

" I envy none their pageantry and show , 

I envy none the gilding of their wo. 

Give me, indulgent gods ! with mind serene, 

And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene ; 

No splendid poverty, no smiling care, 

No well-bred hate or servile grandeur there : 

The pleasing objects useful thoughts suggest j 

The sense is ravish'd and the soul is blest : 

On every thorn, delightful wisdom glows, 

In every nil a sweet instruction flows." 

True social pleasure is founded on unlimited confi- 
dence, on an affectionate and reciprocal interchange of 
sentiment and opinions. A tender, faithful, refined, 
and rational friendship, renders the pleasures of the 
world spiritless and disgusting. How joyfully do we 
disencumber ourselves from the shackles of society, 
for that close and sublime intercourse in which our in- 
clinations are free, our feelings generous, our senti- 
ments unbiassed ; where a mutuality of thought and 
action, of pleasure and of pains uninterruptedlyprevail ; 
where the gentle hand of love conducts us along the 
paths of truth and virtue; where every thought is an- 
ticipated before it escapes from the lips ; where advice, 
consolation, and succor, are reciprocally given and re- 
ceived in all the accidents and in all the misfortunes of 
life ! The soul, touched by the charms of friendship, 
springs from its apathy and dejection, and views the en- 
livening beam of hope awakening it to activity. The 
happy pair, casting a retrospective glance on the time 
passed, mutually exclaim with the tenderest emotions, 
" Oh the delights that we have already experienced ! — 
Oh the joys that we have already felt !" If the tear of 
affliction steal down the cheek of the one, the other 
with affection wipes it tenderly away. The sorrows of 
one are felt with equal sensibilityb y the other : and what 
sorrow will not an intercourse of hearts so closely and 
affectionately united, entirely subdue I — Day after day 
they communicate to each other all they have seen, all 
they have heard, all that they feel, and every thing that 
they know. Time flies before them on his swiftest 
pinions. They are never tired of each other's compa- 
ny and conversation. The only misfortune they fear, the 
greatest indeed they can possibly experience, is the 
misfortune of being separated by occasional absence 
or untimely death. 

But human happiness is continually exposed tojnter- 
ruption. At the very moment alas ; when wcfvainly 
think ourselves the most secure, fate, by a sudden blow, 



OF RETIREMENT. 115 

strikes its unhappy victim even in our arms. All the 
pleasure of life then seems forever extinguished, every 
object alarms our mind, and every place seems desert 
and forlorn. In vain are our arms extended to em- 
brace our loved, though lost companion; in vain do we 
invoke her return. Her well known stepstill seems to 
beat upon the listening ear, and promise ner approach; 
but suspended sense returns, and the delusive sounds 
are heard no more. A death-like silence reigns around, 
and involves us in the shades "of dreary solitude, un- 
conscious of every thing but our bleeding^hearts. 
Wearied and dejected, we imagine ourselves no longer 
capable of loving or of being beloved ; and life without 
love, to the heart that has once felt its pleasures, is 
more^terrible than death. So sudden a transition from 
the highest happiness to the deepest misery overpowers 
the mfnd. No kind friend appears to assuage our suf- 
ferings, or seems capable of forming an adequate idea 
of our distress. The pangs, indeed, which such a loss 
inflicts, cannot be conceived, unless they have been felt. 
The only consolation of the unhappy sufferer is to live 
in solitude, and his only wish to die alone. But it is 
under circumstances like these that solitude enjoys its 
greatest triumph, and the afflicted sufferer receives the 
greatest benefits; for there is no sorrow, however great, 
no pan<j, however powerful, that it will not, when wise- 
ly indulged, at first soften, and at length subdue. The 
remedy which solitude " administers to a mind dis- 
eased," is slow and gradual; for the art of living alone 
requires much experience, is subject to so many casual- 
ties, and depends so materially upon the temperament 
of the patient, that it is necessary we should attain a 
complete maturity before any great advantages can be 
derived from it. But he who is able to throw off the 
galling yoke of prejudice, and possesses a natural es- 
teem and fondness for retirement, will not be embar- 
rassed as to the choice he ought to make under such 
circumstances. Indifferent to external objects, and 
averse from the dissipations of the world, he will rely 
on the powers of his mind, and will never be less alone 
than when he is in the company of himself. 

Men of genius are frequently condemned to employ- 
ments as disagreeable to the turn and temper of their 
minds, as the most nauseous medicine must be to an 
empty stomach. Confined to toil on a dry and disgust- 
ing subject, fixed to a particular spot, and harrassed by 
subordinate duties, they relinquish all expectation of 



116 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

tranquillity on this side the grave. Deprived of enjoy- 
ing the common pleasures of nature, every object in- 
creases their disgust. " It is not for us," they exclaim, 
" that the youthful zephyrs call forth the budding fo- 
liage with their caressing breath ; that the feathered 
choir chant in enlivening strains their rural songs; that 
the verdant meadows are decked with fragrant flow- 
ers." But set these complainers free, give them liberty 
and leisure to think for themselves, and the enthusiasm 
of their minds will soon regenerate, and soar into the 
highest regions of intellectual happiness, with the bold 
wing and penetrating eye of the bird of Jove. 

If solitude be capable of dissipating the afflictions of 
persons thus circumstanced, what may not be expected 
from its influence on those who are enabled to retire, 
at pleasure, to its friendly shades, and who have no 
other wish than to enjoy pure air and domestic felicity ! 
When Antisthenes was asked what advantages philo- 
- sophy had afforded him, he answered, " It has taught 
Trie to subdue my self. ,'> Pope says, he never laid his 
head upon his pillow, without acknowledging that the 
most important lesson of life is to learn the art of being 
happy within ourselves.* And it seems to me that we 
shall all find what Pope looked for, when home is our 
content, and every thing about us, even to the dog and 
the cat, partakes of our affection. * 

Health is certainly essential to happiness, and yet 
there are circumstances and situations, under which 
the privation of it may be attended with tranquillity. 

How frequently have I returned thanks to God, when 
indisposition has prevented me from going abroad, and 
enabled me to recruit my weakened powers in solitude 
and silence ! Obliged to drag through the streets of 
the metropolis day after day during a number of years, 
feeble in constitution, weak in limbs; susceptible, on 
feeling the smallest cold, to the same sensation as if 
knives were separating the flesh from the bone; con- 
tinually surrounded, in the course of my profession, 
with the most afflicting sorrows; it is not surprising 
that I should thank the Almighty with tears of grati- 
tude, on experiencing even the relief which a confine- 
ment by indisposition procured. A physician, if he pos- 
sesses sensibility, must, in his anxiety to relieve the suf- 
ferings of others, frequently forget his own. But, alas ! 
how frequently must he feel all the horrors of his situ- 
ation, when he is summoned to attend patients whose 
maladies are beyond the reach of medicine ! Under 



OF RETIREMENT. 117 

such circumstances, the indisposition which excuses 
my attendance, and leaves me the powers of thought, 
affords me comparatively a sweet repose; and, provi- 
ded I am not disturbed by the polite interruptions of 
ceremonious visiters, I enjoy a pleasing solitude. One 
single day passed undisturbed at home in literary lei- 
sure, affords to the mind more real pleasure than all 
the circles of fashionable entertainment are able to 
bestow. 

The fear of being alone is no longer felt either by 
the young or old, whenever the mind^has acquired the 
power of employing itself in some useful or agreeable 
study. Ill hun.or may be banished by adopting a regu- 
lar course of reading. Books, indeed, cannot be in- 
spected without producing a beneficial effect, provided 
we always read with a pen or pencil in our hand, and 
note down the new ideas that may occur, or the obser- 
vations which confirm the knowledge we before pos- 
sessed ; for reading becomes not only useless, but fa- 
tiguing, unless we apply the information it affords 
either to our own characters, or to those of other men. 
This habit, however, may be easily acquired ; and then 
books become one of the most safe and certain anti- 
dotes to lassitude and discontent. By this means a 
man becomes his own companion, and finds his best 
and most cheerful friend in his own heart. 

Pleasures of this kind certainly surpass in a great 
degree all those which result merely from the indul- 
gence of the senses. The pleasures of the mind, gene- 
rally speaking, signify sublime meditation, the pro- 
found deductions of reason, and the brilliant effusions 
of the imagination; but there are also others, for the 
perfect enjoyment of which, neither extensive know- 
ledge nor extraordinary talents are necessary. Such 
are the pleasures which result from active labor; 
pleasures equally within the reach of the ignorant and 
learned, and not less exquisite than those which result 
from the mind. Manual exertions, therefore, ought 
never to be despised. I am acquainted with gentlemen 
who understand the mechanism of their watches, who 
are able to work as painters, locksmiths, carpenters, 
and who are not only possessed of the tools and im- 
plements of every trade, but know how to use them. 
Such men never feel the least disquietude from the 
want of society, and are in general the happiest cha- 
racters in existence. 

Mental pleasures are within the reach of all persons 



118 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

who, free, tranquil, and affectionate, are contented 
with themselves, and at peace with their fellow-crea- 
tures. The mind contemplates the pranks of school, 
the sprightly aberrations of our boyish days, the wan- 
ton stories of early youth, our plays and pastimes, and 
all the little hopes and fears of infancy, with fond 
delight. Oh! with what approving smiles and soft 
regret, the a^ed cast their eyes upon those happy times 
when youthful inclination prompted all their actions, 
when every enterprise was undertaken with lively 
vigor, and executed with undaunted courage; when 
difficulties were sought merely for the purpose of 
surmounting them ! Let us compare what we were 
formerly with what we are at present; or rather, by 
giving our thoughts a freer range, reflect on the 
various events we have experienced or observed; upon 
the means that the Almighty employs to raise or sink 
the prosperity of empires; upon the rapid progress 
made, even in our time, in every art and science; 
upon the diffusion of useful knowledge, and the de- 
struction of dangerous prejudices; upon the empire 
which barbarism and superstition have gained, not- 
withstanding the exertions of genius and reason to 
prevent them; upon the sublime power of the human 
mind and its inefficient productions ; and languor will 
instantly disappear, and tranquillity, peace, and good 
humor prevail. 

Thus advantage may in solitude be attained and 
relished at every period of our lives ; at the most 
advanced age, as well as during the vigor of youth. 
He who to an unbroken constitution joins a free and 
contented mind, and assiduously cultivates the powers 
of his understanding, will, if his heart be innocent, at 
all times enjoy the purest and most unalterable plea- 
sures. Employment animates all the functions of the 
soul, and calls forth their highest energies. It is the 
secret consciousness which every person of a lively 
imagination possesses, of the powers of the mind, and 
the dignity they are capable of attaining, that creates 
the noble anxiety and ardor, which carries their efforts 
to the sublimest heights. But if, either by duty or 
situation, we maintain too close an intercourse with 
society, if we are obliged, in spite of inclination, to 
submit to frivolous and fatiguing dissipations, it is only 
by quitting the tumult, and entering into silent medi- 
tation, that we feel that effervescence, that desire to 
break from bondage, to fly from past errors, and avoid 
in future every noisy and tumultuous pleasure. 



OF RETIREMENT. 119 

The mind never feels with more energy and satisfac- 
tion that it lives, that it is rational, great, active, free, 
and immortal, than during those moments in which it 
excludes idle and impertinent intruders. 

Of all the vexations of life, there are none so insup- 
portable, as those insipid visits, those annoying partia- 
lities, which occupy the time of frivolous and fashiona- 
ble characters, v My thoughts," says Rousseau, " will 
only come when they please, and not when I choose :" 
and therefore the intrusions of strangers, or of mere 
acquaintances, were always extremely odious to him. 
It was for this reason alone that this extraordinary 
character, who seldom experienced an hour of tran- 
quillity, felt such indignation against the importunate 
civilities and empty compliments of common conversa- 
tion, whilst he enjoyed the rational intercourse of sen- 
sible and well-informed minds with the highest delight. 
How frequently are the brightest beams of intellect 
obscured by associating with low and little minds ! 
How frequently do the soundest understandings be- 
come frivolous, by keeping frivolous company ! For, 
although these bright beams are immediate emanations 
from the Deity on the mind of man, they must be ma- 
tured by meditation and reflection, before they can 
give elevation to genius, and consistency to character. 

Virtues to which the mind cannot rise even when 
assisted by the most advantageous intercourse, are fre- 
quently the fruits of solitude. Deprived for ever of the 
company and conversation of those w r hom we love and 
esteem, we endeavor to charm the uneasy void by 
every effort in our power ; but while love and friend- 
ship lead us by the hand, and cherish us by their care, 
we lean incessantly on their bosoms, and remain inert. 
Solitude, were it for this reason alone, is indispensably 
necessary to the human character ; for when men are 
enabled to depend on themselves alone, the soul, tossed 
about by the tempest of life, acquires new vigor ; learns 
to bear with constancy, or avoid with address, those 
dangerous rocks on which vulgar minds are inevitably 
wrecked ; and discovers continually new resources, by 
which the mind resists, with stoic courage, the rigors 
of its fate. 

Weak minds always conceive it most safe to adopt the 
sentiments of the multitude. They never venture to 
express an 0[ inion upon any subject until the majority 
have decided ; and blindly follow the sentiments of the 
many, whether upon men or things, without troubling* 



120 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

themselves to inquire who are right, or on which side 
truth preponderates. A love of equity and truth, indeed, 
is seldom found, except in those who have no dread of 
solitude. Men of dissipation never protect the weak, 
or avenge the oppressed. If the various and powerful 
hosts of knaves and fools are your enemies ; if you have 
been injured in your property by injustice, or traduced 
m your fame by calumny, you must not fly for protec- 
tion and redress to men of light and dissipated charac- 
ters: for they are merely the organs of error, and the 
conduit pipes of prejudice. 

The knowledge of ourselves is in solitude more easi- 
ly and effectually acquired than in any other situation ; 
for we there live in habits of the strictest intimacy with 
our own bosoms. It is certainly possible for men to be 
deliberate and wise, even amidst all the tumultuous 
folly of the world, especially if their principles be well 
fixed before they enter on the stage of life ; but integri- 
ty is undoubtedly more easily preserved in the innocent 
simplicity of solitude, than in the corrupted intercourses 
of society. In the world how many men please only by 
their vices ! How many profligate villains, and unprin- 
cipled adventurers of insinuating manners, are well 
received only because they have learnt the art of ad- 
ministering to the follies, the weaknesses, and the vices 
of others! The mind, intoxicated with the fumes of 
that incense which artful flattery is continually offering 
to it, is rendered incapable of justly appreciating the 
characters of men. On the contrary, we truly discover 
in the silence of solitude, the inward complexion of the 
heart ; and learn not only what the characters of men 
are, but what in truth and nature they ought to be. 

How many new and useful discoveries may be made 
by occasionally forcing ourselves from the vortex of 
the world, and retiring to the calm enjoyments of study 
and reflection! Tc accomplish this end, it is only ne- 
cessary to commence seriously .with our hearts, and to 
examine our actions with impartiality. The worldly- 
minded man, indeed, has reason to avoid this self-exa- 
mination, for the result would in all probability be 
painful to his feelings ; as he who only judges of himself 
by the flattering opinions which others may have ex- 

Eressed of his character, will, in such a scrutiny, be- 
old with surprise that he is the miserable slave of 
habit and public opinion ; submitting himself with scru- 
pulous exactness, and the best possible grace, to the 
tyranny of fashion and established ceremony ; never 



OF RETIREMENT. 121 

venturing to oppose their influence, however ridiculous 
and absurd it may be ; and obsequiously following the 
example of others, without daring to resist pursuits 
which every one seems so highly to approve. He will 
perceive, that almost all his thoughts and actions are 
engendered by a base fear of himself, or arise from a 
servile complaisance to others; that he only seeks to 
flatter the vanities, and indulge the caprices of his su- 
periors, and becomes the contemptible minister of these 
men, without daring to offer them the smallest contra- 
diction, or hazard an opinion that is likely to give them 
the least displeasure. Whoever, with calm considera- 
tion, views this terrifying picture, will feel, in the silent 
emotions of his heart, the necessity of occasionally re- 
tiring into solitude, and seeking society with men of 
nobler sentiments and purer principles. 

Let every one, therefore, who wishes to think with 
dignity, or live with ease, seek the retreats of solitude, 
and enter into a friendly intercourse with his own heart. 
How small a portion of true philosophy, with an en- 
lightened understanding, will render it humble and 
compliant ! But in the mists of prejudice, dazzled by 
the intellectual glimmer of false lights, every one mis- 
takes the true path, and seeks for happiness in the 
shades of darkness, and in the labyrinths of obscurity. 
The habits of retirement and tranquillity can alone 
enable us to make a just estimate of men and things, 
and it is by renouncing all the prepossessions which 
the corruptions of society have implanted in the mind, 
that we make the first advances toward the restoration 
of reason, and the attainment of felicity. 

We have hitherto only pointed out one class of the 
general advantages which may be derived from ra- 
tional solitude, but there are many others which apply 
still more closely to men's business and bosoms. Who, 
alas ! is there that has not experienced its comforting 
influence in the keenest adversities of life ? Who is 
there that does not seek relief from its friendly shades 
in the langors of convalescence, in the pangs of afflic- 
tion, and even in that distressful moment when death 
deprives us of those whose company was the charm 
and solace of our lives? Happy are they who know 
the advantages of a religious retirement, of that holy 
rest in which the virtues rivet themselves more closely 
to the soul, and in which every man, when he is on 
the bed of death, devoutly wishes he had lived. 

But these advantages become more conspicuous, 



1^2 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

when we compare the manner of thinking which em- 
ploys the mind of a solitary philosopher with that of a 
worldly sensualist; the tiresome tumultuous life of the 
one, with the ease and tranquillity of the other; the 
horrors which disturb the death bed of vice, with the 
calm sigh which accompanies the expiring soul of vir- 
tue. This is the awful moment in which we feel how 
important it is to commune morally with ourselves, 
and religiously with our Creator ; to enable us to bear 
the sufferings of life with dignity, and the pains of 
death with ease. 

The sick, the sorrowful, and the discontented, may 
find equal relief in solitude ; it administers a balm to 
their tortured souls, heals the deep and painful wounds 
they have received, and in time restores them to their 
pristine health and vigor. The deceitful shrine in which 
the intoxication of sensuality involved health and happi- 
ness disappears, and they behold, in the place of imagi- 
nary joys, those objects only which afford real pleasure. 
Prosperity arrays every object in the most glowing and 
delightful colors ; but to adversity every thing appears 
black and dismal. Nor are the errors of these contrary 
extremes discovered until the moment when the cur- 
tain drops, and dissipates the illusion: the deceitful 
dream continues until the imagination is silenced. 
The unhappy then perceive that the Almighty was 
watching over them, even when they conceived them- 
selves entirely abandoned : the happy then discover 
the vanity of those pleasures and amusements to which 
they surrendered themselves so implicitly during the 
intoxication of the world, and reflect seriously upon 
their misconduct ; upon their present state and future 
destiny; and upon the modes most likely to conduct 
them to true felicity. How miserable should we be, 
were the Divine Providence to grant us every thin^ we 
desire ! At the very instant when we conceive all the 
happiness of our lives annihilated, God, perhaps, is per- 
forming something extraordinary in our favor. Cer- 
tain it is, that patience and perseverance will, in soli- 
tude, convert the deepest sorrow into tranquillity and 
;joy. Those objects which, at a distance, appear menac- 
ing, lose, on a nearer approach, their disagreeable as- 
pect, and, in the event, frequently produce the most 
agreeable pleasures. He who tries every expedient, 
who boldly opposes himself to every difficulty, who 
steadily resists every obstacle, w r ho neglects no exertion 
within his power, and relies with confidence on the as 



OF RETIREMENT. 123 

sistance of God, extracts from affliction both its poison 
and its sting, and deprives misfortune of its victory. 

Sorrow, misfortune, and sickness, soon render soli- 
tude easy and familiar to our minds. How willingly 
do we renounce the world, and become indifferent to 
all its pleasures, when the insidious eloquence of the 
passions is silenced, and our powers are debilitated by 
vexation or ill health ! It is then we perceive the weak- 
ness of those succors which the world affords. How 
many useful truths, alas ! has the bed of sickness and 
sorrow instilled even into the minds of kings and 
princes! truths which, in the hour of health, they 
would have been unable to learn amidst the deceitful 
counsels of their pretended friends. The time, indeed, 
in which a valetudinarian is capable of employing his 
powers with facility and success, in a manner confor- 
mable to his designs, is short, and runs rapidly away. 
Those only who enjoy robust health can exclaim, 
u Time is my own ;" for he who labors under continual 
sickness and suffering, and whose avocations depend 
on the public necessity or caprice, can never say that 
he has one moment to himself. He must watch the 
fleeting hours as they pass, and seize an interval of lei- 
sure when and where he can. Necessity, as well as rea- 
son, convinces him that he must, in spite of his daily suf- 
ferings, his wearied body, or his harassed mind, firmly 
resist his accumulating troubles; and, if he would 
save himself from becoming the victim of dejection, 
he must manfully combat the difficulties by which he 
is attacked. The more we enervate ourselves, the 
more we become the prey of ill health ; but determined 
courage, and obstinate resistance, frequently renovate 
our powers; and he who, in the calm of solitude, vigo- 
rously wrestles with misfortune, is, in the event, sure 
of gaining the victory. 

The influence of the mind upon the body is a conso- 
latory truth to those who are subject to constitutional 
complaints. Supported by this reflection, the efforts of 
reason continue unsubdued ; the influence of religion 
maintains its empire; and the lamentable truth, that 
men of the finest sensibility, and most cultivated un- 
derstanding, frequently possess less fortitude under af- 
fliction than the most vulgar of mankind, remains un- 
known. Campanella, incredible as it may seem, suf- 
fered by the indulgence of melancholy reflections, a 
species of mental torture more painful than any bodily 
torture could have produced. I can, however, from 



124 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

my own experience, assert, that, even in the extremity 
of distress, every object which diverts the attention, 
softens the evils we endure, and frequently drives them 
entirely away. By diverting the attention, many cele- 
brated philosophers have been able not only to preserve 
a tranquil mind in the midst of the most poignant suf- 
fering's, but have even increased the strength of their 
intellectual faculties, in spite of their corporeal pains. 
Rousseau composed the greater part of his immortal 
works under the continual pressure of sickness and 
sorrow. -Gellert, who, by his mild, agreeable, and in- 
structive writings, has become the preceptor of Germa- 
ny, certainly found, in this interesting occupation, the 
secret remedy against melancholy. Mendelsohm, at 
an age far advanced in life, and not, in general, sub- 
ject to dejection, was for a long time oppressed by an 
almost inconceivable derangement of the nervous sys- 
tem ; but, by submitting with patience and docility to 
his sufferings, he still maintains all the noble and high 
advantages^ of youth. Garve, who was for several 
years unable to read, to write, or even to think, has 
since produced his treatise upon Cicero, in which this 
profound writer, so circumspect in all his expressions 
that he appears hurt if any improper word escapes his 
pen, thanks the Almighty, with a sort of rapture, for 
the weakness of his constitution, because it had taught 
him the extraordinary influence which the powers of 
the mind have over those of the body. 

Solitude is not merely desirable, but absolutely neces- 
sary, to those characters who possess sensibilities too 
quick, and imaginations' too ardent, to live quietly in 
the world, and who are incessantly inveighing against 
men and things. Those who suffer their minds to be 
subdued by circumstances which would scarcely pro- 
duce an emotion in other bosoms : who complain of 
the severity of their misfortunes on occasions which 
others would not feel ; who are dispirited by every oc- 
currence which does not produce immediate satisfac- 
tion and pleasure ; who are incessantly tormented by 
the illusion of fancy ; who are unhinged and dejected 
the moment prosperity is out of their view ; who repine 
at what they possess, from an ignorance of what they 
really want ; whose minds are for ever veering from 
one vain wish to another; who are alarmed at every 
thing, and enjoy nothing ; are not formed for society, 
and, if solitude have no power to heal their wounded 
spirits, are certainly incurable. 



OF RETIREMENT. 125 

Men who in other respects possess rational minds 
and pious dispositions, frequently fall into low spirits 
and despair ; but it is in general almost entirely their 
own fault. If it proceed, as is generally the case, from 
unfounded fears ; if they love to torment themselves 
and others on every trivia] disappointment or slight in- 
disposition ; if they constantly resort to medicine for 
that relief which reason alone can bestow; if they 
fondly indulge, instead of repressing, these idle fancies ; 
if, after having endured the most excruciating pains 
with patience, and supported the greatest misfortunes 
with fortitude, they neither can nor will learn to bear 
the puncture of the smallest pin, or those trifling ad- 
versities to which human life is unavoidably subject; 
they can only attribute their unhappy condition to their 
own misconduct; and, although they might, by no 
very irksome effort of their understandings, look with 
an eye of composure and tranquillity on the multiplied 
and fatal fires issuing from the dreadful cannon's 
mouth, will continue shamefully subdued by the idle 
apprehensions of being fired at by pop-guns. 

All these qualities of the soul, fortitude, firmness, and 
stoic inflexibility, are much sooner acquired by silent 
meditation than amidst the noisy intercourse of man- 
kind, where innumerable difficulties continually oppose 
us ; where ceremony, servility, flattery, and fear, con- 
taminate our dispositions ; where every occurrence 
opposes our endeavors; and where, for this reason, 
men of the weakest minds, and the most contracted 
notions, become more active and popular, gain more 
attention, and are better received, than men of feeling 
hearts and liberal understandings. 

The mind, in short, fortifies itself with impregnable 
strength in the bowers of solitary retirement against 
every species of suffering and affliction. The frivolous 
attachments which, in the world, divert the soul from 
its proper objects, and drive it wandering, as chance 
may direct, into an eccentric void, die away. Content- 
ed, from experience, with the little which nature re- 
quires, rejecting every superfluous desire, and having 
acquired a complete knowledge of ourselves, the visi- 
tations of the Almighty, when he chastises us with af- 
fliction, humbles our presumptuous pride, disappoints 
our vain conceits, restrains the violence of our passions, 
and makes us sensible of our inanity and weakness, are 
received with composure and felt without surprise. 
How many important truths do we here learn, of which 



126 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

the worldly minded man has no idea ! Casting the eye 
of calm reflection on ourselves, and on the objects 
around us, how resigned we become to the lot of hu- 
manity ! How different every object appears ! The 
heart expands to every noble sentiment ; the bloom of 
conscious virtue brightens on the cheek: the mind 
teems with sublime conceptions ; and, boldly taking 
the right path, we at length reach the bowers of inno- 
cence, and the plains of peace. 

On the death of a beloved friend, we constantly feel 
a strong desire to withdraw from society ; but our 
worldly - acquaintances unite in general to destroy this 
laudable inclination. Conceiving it improper to men- 
tion the subject of our grief, our companions, cold and 
indifferent to the event, surround us, and think their 
duties sufficiently discharged by paying the tributary 
visit, and amusing us with the current topics of the 
town. Such idle pleasantries cannot convey a balm of 
comfort into the wounded heart. 

When I, alas ! within two years after my arrival in 
Germany, lost the lovely idol of my heart, the amiable 
companion of my former days, I exclaimed a thousand 
times to my surrounding friends, Oh I leave me to my- 
self! Her departed spirit still hovers round me: the 
tender recollection of her society, the afflicting remem- 
brance of her sufferings on my account, are always 
present to my mind. What mildness and affability ! 
Her death was as calm and resigned as her life was 
pure and virtuous. During five long months, the lin- 
gering pan^s of dissolution hung continually around 
her. One day, as she reclined upon her pillow, while 
I read to her " The Death of Christ," by Rammler, 
she cast her eyes over the page, and silently pointed 
out to me the following passage ; " My breath grows 
weak, my days are shortened, my heart is full of afflic- 
tion, and my soul prepares to take its flight." Alas ! 
when I recall all those circumstances to my mind, and 
recollect how impossible it was for me to abandon the 
world at that moment of anguish and distress, when I 
carried the seeds of death within mv bosom ; when I 
had neither fortitude to bear my afflictions, nor cou- 
rage to resist them, while I was yet pursued by malice, 
and traduced by calumny; I can easily conceive, in 
such a situation, that my exclamation might be, leave 
me to myself. To a heart thus torn by too rigorous a 
destiny from the bosom that was opened for its recep- 



OF RETIREMENT. 127 

tion ; from a bosom in which it fondly dwelt ; from an 
object that it dearly loved, detached from every object, 
at a loss where to fix its affections or communicate its 
feelings, solitude alone can administer comfort. 

Solitude, when it has ripened and preserved the ten- 
der and humane feelings of the heart, and created in 
the mind a salutary distrust of our vain reason and 
boasted abilities, may be considered to have brought 
us nearer to God. Humility is the first lesson we learn 
from reflection, and self distrust the first proof we give 
of having obtained a knowledge of ourselves. When, 
in attending the duties of my profession, I behold, on 
the bed of sickness, the efforts of the soul to oppose its 
impending dissolution, and discover, by the increasing 
torments of the patient, the rapid advances of death : 
when I see the unhappy sufferer extend his cold ana 
trembling hands to thank the Almighty for the smallest 
mitigation of his pains; when I hear his utterance 
choked by intermingled groans, and view the tender 
looks, the silent anguish of his attending friends ; all 
my fortitude abandons me ; my heart bleeds : and I 
tear myself from the sorrowful scene, only to pour my 
tears more freely over the lamentable lot of humanity, to 
regret the inefficacy of those medical powers which I 
am supposed only to have sought with so much anxiety 
as a mean of prolonging my own miserable existence, 

" When in this vale of years I backward look, 
And miss such numbers, numbers too of such, 
Firmer in health, and greener in their age, 
And stricter on their guard, and fitter far 
To play life's subtle game, I scarce believe 
I still survive : and am I fond of life 
Who scarce can think it possible I live ? 
Alive by miracle !" If I am still alive, 
Who long have buried what gives life to live." 

The wisdom that teaches us to avoid the snares of 
the world, is not to be acquired by the incessant pur- 
suit of entertainments; by flying, without reflection, 
from one party to another; by continual conversation 
on low and trifling subjects; by undertaking every 
thing and doing nothing. "He who would acquire 
true wisdom," says a celebrated philosopher, "must 
learn to live in solitude." An uninterrupted course of 
dissipation stifles every virtuous sentiment. The do- 
minion of reason is lost amidst the intoxications of 
pleasure ; its voice is no longer heard ; its authority is 



128 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

no longer obeyed ; the mind no longer strives to sur- 
mount temptations ; but instead of shunning the perils 
which the passions scatter in our way, we run eagerly 
to find them. The idea of God, and the precepts of his 
holy religion, are never so little remembered as in the 
ordinary intercourses of society. Engaged in a multi- 
plicity of absurd pursuits, entranced in the delirium of 
gayety, inflamed by the continual ebriety which raises 
the passions and stimulates the desires, every connex- 
ion between God and man is dissolved ; the bright and 
noble faculty of reason obscured ; and even the great 
and important duties of religion, the only source of 
true felicity, totally obliterated from the mind, or re- 
membered only with levity and indifference. On the 
contrary, he who, entering into a serious self-examina- 
tion, elevates his thoughts in silence toward his God : 
who consults the theatre of nature, the spanglea 
firmament of heaven, the meadows enamelled with 
flowers, the stupendous mountains, and the silent 
groves, as the temples of the Divinity ; who directs the 
emotions of his heart to the. great Author and Conduc- 
tor of every thing; who has his enlightened providence 
continually before his eyes, must, most assuredly, have 
already lived in pious solitude and religious retirement. 
The pious disposition which a zealous devotion to 
God engenders in solitude, may, it is true, in certain 
characters, and under particular circumstances, dege- 
nerate into the gloom of superstition, or rise into the 
phrenzy of fanaticism; but these excesses soon abate; 
and, compared with that fatal supineness which extin- 
guishes every virtue, are really advantageous. The 
sophistry of the passions is silent during the serious 
hours of self-examination, and the perturbations we 
feel on the discovery of our errors and defects, is con- 
verted by the light of a pure and rational faith, into 
happy ease and perfect tranquillity. The fanatic enthu- 
siast presents himself before the Almighty much oftener 
than the supercilious wit who derides an holy religion, 
and calls piety a weakness. Philosophy and morality- 
become in solitude the handmaids of religion, and join 
their powers to conduct us into the bowers of eternal 
peace. They teach us to examine our hearts, and ex- 
hort us to guard against the dangers of fanaticism. 
But if virtue cannot be instilled into the soul without 
convulsive efforts, they also admonish us not to be in- 
timidated by the apprehension of danger. It is not in 
the moment of joy, when we turn our eyes from God 



OP RETIREMENT. 129 

and our thoughts from eternity, that we experience 
those salutary fervors of the soul, which even religion, 
with all her powers, cannot produce so soon as a men- 
tal affliction or a corporeal malady. The celebrated 
M. Grave, one of the greatest philosophers of Germa- 
ny, exclaimed to Dr. Spalding and myself, " I am in- 
debted to my malady for having led me to make a 
closer scrutiny and more accurate observation on my 
own character." 

In the last moments of life, it is certain that we all 
wish we had passed our days in greater privacy and 
solitude, in stricter intimacy with ourselves, and in 
closer communion with God. Pressed by the recol- 
lection of our errors, we then clearly perceive that 
they were occasioned by not having shunned the snares 
of the world, and by not having watched with sufficient 
care over the inclinations of our* hearts. Oppose the 
sentiments of a solitary man, who has passed his life 
in pious conference with God, to those which occupy 
a worldly mind, forgetful of its Creator, and sacrificing 
its dearest interests to the enjoyment of the moment: 
compare the character of a wise man, who reflects in 
silence on the importance of eternity, with that of a 
fashionable being, who consumes all his time at 
ridottos, balls, and assemblies ; and we shall then per- 
ceive that solitude, dignified retirement, select friend- 
ships, and rational society, can alone afford true plea- 
sure, and give us what all the vain enjoyments of the 
world will never bestow, consolation in death, and 
hope of everlasting life. But the bed of death discov- 
ers most clearly the difference between the just man, 
who has quietly passed his days in religious contempla- 
tion, and the man of the world, whose thoughts have 
only been employed to feed his passions and gratify his 
desires. A life passed amidst the tumultuous dissipa- 
tions of the world, even when unsullied by the com- 
mission of any positive crime, concludes, alas ! very 
differently from that which has been spent in the bow- 
ers of solitude, adorned by innocence, and rewarded by 
virtue. 

But, as example teaches more effectually than precept, 
and curiosity is more alive to recent facts than remote 
illustrations, I shall here relate the history of a man of 
family and fashion, who a few years since shot himself 
in London ; from which it will appear, that men pos- 
sessed even of the best feelings of the heart, may be 



130 



GENERAL ADVANTAGES 



rendered extremely miserable, by suffering their prin- 
ciples to be corrupted by the practice of the world. 

The honorable Mr. Darner, the eldest son of Lord 
Milton, was five and thirty years of age when he put 
a period to his existence by means perfectly correspon- 
dent to the principles in which he had lived. He was 
married to a rich lady, the daughter-in-law of General 
Conway. Nature had endowed him with extraordi- 
nary talents ; but a most infatuated fondness for exces- 
sive dissipation obscured the brightest faculties of his 
mind, and perverted many of the excellent qualities of 
the heart. His houses, his carriages, his horses, and 
his liveries, surpassed in splendor and magnificence 
every thing sumptuous and costly even in the superb 
and extravagant metropolis of Great Britain. The 
fortune he possessed was great; but the variety of lav- 
ish expenditures in which he engaged exceeded his in- 
come, and he was reduced at length to the necessity of 
borrowing money. He raised, in different ways, near 
forty thousand pounds, the greater part of which he 
employed with improvident generosity in relieving 
the distresses of his less opulent companions ; for his 
heart overflowed with tenderness and compassion ; but 
this exquisite sensibility, which was ever alive to the 
misfortunes of others, was at length awakened to his 
own embarrassed situation; and his mind driven by 
the seeming irretrievable condition of his affairs, to the 
utmost verge of despair. Retiring to a common bro- 
thel, he sent for four women of the town, and passed 
several hours in their company with apparent good 
spirits and unencumbered gayety; but, when the 
dead of night arrived, he requested of them, with visi- 
ble dejection, to retire; and immediately afterward 
drawing from his pocket a pistol, which he had carried 
about him the whole afternoon, blew out his brains. It 
appeared that he had passed the evening with these 
women in the same manner as he had been used to pass 
many others with different women of the same de- 
scription, without demanding favours which they 
would most willingly have granted, and only desiring, 
in return for the money he lavished on them, the dis- 
sipation of their discourse, or at most, the ceremony 
of a salute, to divert the sorrow that preyed upon his 
tortured mind. But the gratitude he felt for the tempo- 
rary oblivion which these intercourses afforded, some- 
times ripened into feelings of the warmest friendship. 
A celebrated actress of the London theatre, whose con- 



OF RETIREMENT. 131 

versations had already drained him of considerable 
sums of money, requested of him, only three days be 
fore his death, to send her five and twenty guineas. 
At that moment he had only ten guineas about him; 
but he sent her, with an apology for his inability to 
comply immediately with her request, all he had, and 
soon afterward borrowed the remainder of the money, 
and sent it to her without delay. This unhappy young 
man, shortly before the fatal catastrophe, had written 
to his father, and disclosed to him the distressed situa- 
tion he was in ; and the very night on which he termi- 
nated his existence, his affectionate parent, the good 
Lord Milton, arrived in London, for the purpose of dis- 
charging all the debts, and arranging the affairs of his 
unhappy son. Thus lived and died this destitute and 
dissipated man! How different from that life which 
the innocent live, or that death which the virtuous die I 
I hope I may be permitted in this place to relate the 
story of a young lady whose memory I am extremely 
anxious to preserve ; for I can with great truth say of 
her, as Petrarch said of his beloved Laura, "the world 
was unacquainted with the excellence of her charac- 
ter: for she was only known to those whom she has 
left behind to bewail her loss." Solitude was all the 
world she knew; for her only pleasures were those 
which a retired and virtuous life affords. Submitting 
with pious resignation to the dispensations of heaven, 
her weak frame sustained, with steady fortitude, every 
affliction of mortality. Mild, good, and tender, she en- 
dured her sufferings without a murmur or sigh ; and 
although naturally timid and reserved, disclosed the 
feelings of her soul with all the warmth of filial enthu- 
siasm. Of this description was the superior character 
of whom I now write ; a character who convinced me, 
by her fortitude under the severest misfortunes, how 
much strength solitude is capable of conveying to the 
mind even of the feeblest being. Diffident of her own 
powers, she listened to the precepts of a fond parent* 
and relied with perfect confidence on the goodness of 
God. Taught by my experience, submitting to my 
judgment, she entertained for me the most ardent af- 
fection; and convinced me, not by professions, but 
by actions, of her sincerity. Willingly would I 
have sacrificed my life to have saved her ; and I am 
satisfied that she would as willingly have given 
up her own for me. I had no pleasure but in pleasing 
her, and my endeavors for that purpose were most 



132 GENERAL ADVANTAGES 

gratefully returned. A rose was my favorite flower, 
and she presented one to me almost daily during the 
season. I received it from her hand with the highest 
delight, and cherished it as the richest treasure. A 
malady of almost a singular kind, a haemorrhage in the 
lungs, suddenly deprived me of the comfort ol this be- 
loved child, and tore her from my protecting arms. 
From the knowledge I had of her constitution, I im- 
mediately perceived that the disorder was mortal. 
How frequently during that fatal day did my wounded, 
bleeding heart, bend me on my knees before God to 
supplicate for her recovery. But I concealed my feel- 
ings from her observation. Although sensible of her 
danger, she never discovered the least apprehension 
of its approach. Smiles played around her pallid 
cheeks whenever I entered or quitted the room ; and 
when worn down by the fatal distemper, a prey to the 
most corroding grief, a victim to the sharpest and most 
intolerable pains, she made no complaint; but mildly 
answered all my questions by some short sentence, 
without entering into any detail. Her decay and impen- 
ding dissolution became obvious to the eye ; but to the 
last moment of her life, her countenance preserved a 
serenity correspondent to the purity of her mind, and 
the affectionate tenderness of her heart. Thus I be- 
held my dear and only daughter, at the age of five and 
twenty, after a lingering suffering of nine long, long 
months, expire in my arms. So long and so severe an 
attack was not necessary to the conquest: she had 
been the submissive victim of ill health from her ear- 
liest infancy ; her appetite was almost gone when we 
left Swisserland : a residence w r hich she quitted with 
her usual sweetness of temper, and without discover- 
ing the smallest regret : although a young man, as 
handsome in his person as he was amiable in the quali- 
ties of his mind, the object of her first, her only affection, 
a few weeks afterward put a period to his existence. 
During the few happy days we passed at Hanover, 
where she rendered herself universally respected and 
beloved, she amused herself by composing religious 
prayers, which were afterward found among her pa- 
pers, and in which she implores death to afford her a 
speedy relief from her pains. During the same period 
she wrote also many letters, always affecting, and fre- 
quently sublime. They were couched in expressions 
of the same desire speedily to reunite her soul with 
the Author of her days. The last words that my dear, 



OF RETIREMENT. 133 

my beloved child uttered, amidst the most painful ago- 
nies, were these — " To-day I shall taste the joys of 
heaven !" 

How unworthy of this bright example should we be, 
if, after having seen the severest sufferings sustained 
by a female in the earliest period of life, and of the 
weakest constitution, we permitted our minds to be de- 
jected by misfortunes which courage might enable us 
to surmount ! A female who under the anguish of in- 
expressible torments, never permitted a sia-h or com- 
plaint to escape from her lips, but submittecf with silent 
resignation to the will of heaven, in hope of meeting 
with reward hereafter. She was ever active, invariably 
mild, and always compassionate to the miseries of 
others. But we } who have before our eyes the sublime 
instructions which a character thus virtuous and noble 
has here given us; we, who like her, aspire to a seat 
in the mansions of the blessed, refuse the smallest sa- 
crifice, make no endeavor to stem with courage the 
torrent of adversity, or to acquire that degree of pa- 
tience and resignation, which a strict examination of 
our own hearts, and silent communion with God, would 
certainly afford. 

Sensible and unfortunate beings ! The slight misfor- 
tunes by which you are now oppressed, and driven to 
despaii (for slight, indeed, they are, when compared 
with mine.) will ultimately raise your minds above the 
low considerations of the world, and give a; strength to 
your power which you now conceive to be impossible. 
You now think yourselves sunk into the deepest abyss 
of suffering and sorrow ; but the time will soon arrive 
when you will perceive yourselves in that happy state 
in which the mind verges from earth and fixes its at- 
tention on heaven. You will then enjoy a calm repose, 
be susceptible of pleasures equally substantial and sub- 
lime, and possess in lieu of tumultuous anxieties for 
life, the serene and comfortable hope of immortality. 
Blessed, supremely blessed, is he who knows the value 
of retirement and tranquillity, who is capable of enjoy- 
ing the silence of the groves, and all the pleasures of 
rural solitude. The soul then tastes celestial delight 
even under the deepest impressions of sorrow and de- 
action ; regains its strength, collects new courage, and 
acts with perfect freedom. The eye then looks with 
fortitude on the transient sufferings of disease; the 
mind no longer feels the dread of being alone ; and we 
learn to cultivate, during the remainder of our lives, a 
bed of roses ound even the tomb of death. 
12 



134 ADVANTAGES OF 

CHAPTER V. 

•Advantages of solitude in exile. 

The advantages of solitude are not confined to rank, 
or fortune, or to circumstances. Fragrant breezes, 
magnificent forests, richly tinted meadows, and that 
endless variety of beautiful objects which the birth of 
spring spreads over the face of nature, enchant not 
only philosophers, kings, and heroes, but ravish the 
mind of the meanest spectator with exquisite delight. 
An English author has very justly observed, that " it 
is not necessary that he who looks with pleasure on 
the color of a flower, should study the principles of ve- 
getation ; or that the Ptolemaic and Copernican sys- 
tems should be compared, before the light of the sun 
can gladden, or its warmth invigorate. Novelty in 
itself is a source of gratification ; and Milton justly 
observes, that to hinTwho has been long pent up in 
cities, no rural object can be presented which will not 
delignt or refresh some of his senses." 

Exiles themselves frequently experience the advan- 
tages and enjoyments of solitude. Instead of the 
world from which they are banished, they form, in the 
tranquillity of retirement, a new world for themselves ; 
forget the false joys and fictitious pleasures which they 
followed irr the zenith of greatness, habituate their 
minds to others of a nobler kind, more worthy the 
attention of rational beings; and to pass their days 
with tranquillity, invent a variety of innocent feli- 
cities, which are only thought of at a distance from so- 
ciety, far removed from all consolation, far from their 
country, their families, and their friends. 

But exiles, if they wish to insure happiness in retire- 
ment, must, like other men, fix their minds upon some 
one object, and adopt the pursuit of it in such a way as 
to revive their buried hopes, or to excite the prospect 
of approaching pleasure. 

Maurice, prince of Isenbourg, distinguished himself 
by his courage during a service of twenty years under 
Ferdinand, duke of Brunswick, and Marshal Broglio, 
and in the war between the Russians and the Turks. 
Health and repose were sacrificed to the gratification 
of his ambition and love of glory. During his service 
in the Russian army, he fell under the displeasure of 
the empress, and was sent into exile. The calamitous 



SOLITUDE IN EXILE. 135 

condition to which persons exiled by this government 
are reduced is well known ; but this philosophic prince 
contrived to render even a Russian banishment agree- 
able. While oppressed both in body and mind by the pain- 
ful reflections which his situation at first created, and 
reduced by his anxieties to a mere skeleton, he acci- 
dentally met with the little essay written by Lord Bo- 
lingbroke on the subject of Exile. He read it several 
times, and, " in proportion to the number of times I 
read," said the prince, in tbe preface to the elegant and 
nervous translation he made of this work, " I felt all 
my sorrows and disquietudes vanish." 

This essay by Lord Bolingbrokeupon exile, is a mas- 
terpiece of stoic philosophy and fine writing. He there 
boldly examines all the adversities of life. " Let us," 
says he, " set all our past and present afflictions at once 
before our eyes : let us resolve to overcome them in- 
stead of flying from them, or wearing out the sense of 
them with long and ignominious patience. Instead of 
palliating remedies, let us use the incision knife and 
the caustic, search the wound to the bottom, and work 
an immediate and radical cure." 

Perpetual banishment, like uninterrupted solitude, 
certainly strengthens the powers of the mind, and ena- 
bles the" sufferer to collect sufficient force to support his 
misfortunes. Solitude, indeed, becomes an easy situa- 
tion to those exiles who are inclined to indulge the 
pleasing sympathies of the heart ; for they then expe- 
rience pleasures that were before unknown, and from 
that moment forget those they tasted in the more flour- 
ishing and prosperous conditions of life. 

Brutus, when he visited the banished Mareellus in his 
retreat at Mitylene, found him enjoying the highest fe- 
licities of which human nature is susceptible, and de- 
voting his time, as before his banishment, to the study 
of every useful science Deeply impressed by the ex- 
ample this unexpected scene afforded, he felt, on his re- 
turn, that it was Brutus who was exiled, and not Mar- 
eellus whom he left behind. Quintus Metellus Numi- 
dicus had experienced the like fate a few years before. 
While the Roman people, under the guidance of Marius 
were laying the foundation of that tyranny which Cesar 
afterward completed, Metellus, singly, in the midst 
of an alarmed senate, and surrounded by an en- 
raged populace, refused to take the oath imposed by 
the pernicious laws of the tribune Saturnius ; and his 
intrepid conduct was converted, by the voice of fac- 



136 ADVANTAGES OF 

tion, into a high crime against the state; for which he 
was dragged from his senatorial seat by the licentious 
rabble, exposed to the indignity of a public impeach- 
ment, and sentenced to perpetual exile. The more 
virtuous citizens, however, took arms in his defence, 
and generously resolved rather to perish than behold 
their country unjustly deprived of so much merit : but 
this magnanimous Roman, whom no persuasion could 
induce to do wrong, declined to increase the confusion 
of the commonwealth by encouraging resistance, con- 
ceiving it a duty he owed to the laws, not to suffer any 
sedition to take place on his account. Contenting him- 
self with protesting his innocence, and sincerely la- 
menting the public phrenzy, he exclaimed, as Plato 
had done before during the distractions of the Athe- 
nian cpmmonwealth, u Lf the times should mend, I 
shall recover my station ; if not, it is a happiness to be 
absent from Rome ;" and departed without regret into 
exile, fully convinced of its advantages to a mind inca- 
pable of finding repose except on foreign shores, and 
which at Rome must have been incessantly tortured 
by the hourly sight of a sickly state and an expiring 
republic. 

Rutilius also, feeling the same contempt for the sen- 
timents and manners of the age, voluntarily withdrew 
himself from the corrupted metropolis of the republic. 
Asia had been defended by his integrity and courage 
against the ruinous and oppressive extortion of the 

Eublicans. These noble and spirited exertions, which 
e was prompted to make not only from his high sense 
of justice, but. in the honourable discharge of the par- 
ticular duties of his office, drew on him the indigna- 
tion of the equestrian order, and excited the animosity 
of the faction which supported the interests of Marius. 
They induced the viie and infamous Apiciusto become 
the instrument of his destruction. He was accused of 
corruption ; and as the authors and abettors of this false 
accusation sat as judges on his trial, Rutilius, the most 
innocent and virtuous citizen of the tepublic, was of 
course condemned • for, indeed, he scarcely conde- 
scended +o defend the cause. Seeking an asylum in 
the east, this trul> respectable Roman, whose merits 
were not only overlooked, but traduced, by his un- 
grateful country, was every where received with pro- 
found veneration and unqualified applause. He had 
however, before the term of his exile expired, an op- 
portunity of exhibiting the just contempt he felt for 



SOLITUDE IN EXILE. 137 

the treatment he had received ; for when Sylla earnest- 
ly solicited him to return to Rome, he not only refused 
to comply with his request, but removed his residence 
to a greater distance from his infatuated country. 

Cicero, however, who possessed in an eminent de- 
gree aftxhe resources and sentiments which are neces- 
sary to render solitude pleasant and advantageous, is a 
memorable exception to these instances of happy and 
contented exiles. This eloquent patriot, who had been 
publicly proclaimed, " the saviour of his country" 
who had pursued his measures with undaunted perseve- 
rance, in defiance of the open menaces of a desperate fac- 
tion, and the concealed daggerscif hired assassins, sunk 
into dejection and dismay under as^ntence of exile. The 
strength of his constitution had long been impaired by 
incessant anxiety and fatigue : and the terrors of ban- 
ishment so oppressed his mind, that he lost all his pow- 
ers, and became, from the deep melancholy into which 
it plunged him, totally incapable of adopting just sen- 
timents, or pursuing spirited measures. By this weak 
and unmanly conduct he disgraced an event by which 
Providence intended to render his glory complete. 
Undetermined where to go, or what to do, he lamented, 
with effeminate sighs and childish tears, that he could 
now no longer enjoy the luxuries of his fortune, the 
splendor of his rank, or the charms of his popularity. 
Weeping over the ruins of his magnificent mansion, 
which Clodius levelled with the ground, and groaning 
for the absence of his wife, Terentia, whom he soon 
afterward repudiated, he suffered the deepest melan- 
choly to seize upon his mind: became a pr^y to the 
most inveterate grief; complained with bitter anguish 
of wants, w T hich, if supplied, would have afforded him 
no enjoyment: and acted, in short, so ridiculously, that 
both his friencls and his enemies concluded that adver- 
sity had deranged his mind. Cesar beheld with se- 
cret and malignant pleasure, the man who had refused 
to act as his lieutenant, suffering under the scourge of 
Clodius. Pompey hoped that all sense of his ingrati- 
tude would be effaced by the contempt and derision to 
which a benefactor, whom he had shamefully aban- 
doned, thus meanly exposed his character. Atticus 
himself, whose mind was bent on magnificence and 
money, and who, by his temporizing talents, endeavor- 
ed to preserve the friendship of all parties, without en- 
listing in any, blushed for the unmanly conduct of Ci- 
cero ; and in the censorial style of Cato, instead of his 
12* 



138 ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE 

own plausible dialect, severely reproached him for con 
tinuing so meanly attached to his former fortunes. 
Solitude had no influence over a mind so weak and de- 
pressed as to turn the worst side of every subject to its 
view. He died, however, with greater heroism than 
he lived ; " approach, old soldier I" cried he, from his 
litter, to Popilius Loenas, his former client and present 
murderer, "and, if you have the courage, take my 
life." 

" These instances," says Lord Bolingbroke, " show 
that as change of place, simply considered,- can render 
no man unhappy ; so the other evils which are objected 
to exile, either cannot happen to wise and virtuous 
men, or, if they do happen to them, cannot render 
them miserable. Stones are hard, and cakes of ice are 
cold, and all who feel them feel alike ; but the good or 
the bad events which fortune brings upon us. are felt 
according to the qualities that we, not they, possess. 
They are in themselves indifferent and common acci- 
dents, and they acquire strength by nothing but our 
vice or our weakness. Fortune can dispense neither 
felicity nor infelicity, unless we co-operate with her. 
Few men who are unhappy under the loss of an estate, 
would be happy in the possession of it ; and those who 
deserve to enjoy the advantages which exile takes 
away, will not be unhappy when thev are deprived of 
them." 

An exile, however, cannot hope to see his days glide 
quietly away in rural delights and philosophic repose, 
except he has conscientiously discharged those duties 
which he owed to the world, and given that example 
of rectitude to future ages which every character ex- 
hibits who is as greaUifter his fall as he was at the 
most brilliant period of his prosperity. 



CHAPTER VI. 

•Advantages of solitude in old age ; and on the bed of death. 

The decline of life, and particularly the condition 
of old age, derive from solitude the purest sources of 
uninterrupted enjoyment. Old age when considered 
as a period of comparative quietude and repose, as a 
serious and contemplative interval betweeen a transi- 
tory existence and an approaching immortality, is, per- 



IN OLD AGE. 139 

haps, the most agreeable condition of human life: a 
condition to which solitude affords a secure harbor 
against those shattering tempests to which the frail 
bark of man is continually exposed in the short but 
dangerous voyage of the world ; a harbor from whence 
he may securely view the rocks and quicksands which 
threatened his destruction, and which he has happily 
escaped. 

Men are by nature disposed to investigate the various 
properties of distant objects before they think of con- 
templating their own characters ; like modern travel- 
lers who visit foreign countries before they are ac- 
quainted with their own. But prudence will exhort 
the young, and experience teach the aged, to conduct 
themselves on very different principles ; and both the 
one and the other will find that solitude and self-ex- 
amination are the beginning and the end of true wis- 
dom. 

Oh ! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 
Lost to the noble sallies of the soul ! 
Who think in solitude to be alone. 
Communion sweet ; communion large and high . 
Our reason, guardian angel, and our God : 
The nearest these when others most remote ; 
And all, ere long, shall be remote but these. 

The levity of youth, by this communion large and 
high, will be repressed, and the depression which some- 
times accompanies old age entirely removed. An un- 
ceasing succession of gay hopes, fond desires, ardent 
wishes, high delights, and unfounded fancies, form 
the character of our early years: but those which 
follow are marked with melancholy and increa- 
sing sorrows. A mind, however that is invigo- 
rated by observation and experience, remains daunt- 
less and unmoved, amidst both the prosperities 
and adversities of life. He who is no longer forced to 
exert his powers, and who at an early period of his 
life has well studied the manners of men, will com- 
plain very little of the ingratitude with which his 
favors and anxieties have been requited. All he asks 
is, that the world will let him alone: and having a 
thorough knowledge not only of his own character, 
but of mankind, he~is enabled to enjoy the comforts of 
repose. 

It is finely remarked by a celebrated German, that 
there are political as well as religious Carthusians, and 



140 ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE 

that both orders are sometimes composed of most ex- 
cellent and pious characters. "It is," says this admi- 
rable writer, "in the deepest and most sequestered re- 
cesses of forests that we meet with the peaceful sage, 
the calm observer, the friend of truth, and the lover of 
his country, who renders himself beloved by his wis- 
dom, revered for his knowledge, respected for his vera- 
city,' and adored for his benevolence; whose confi- 
dence and friendship every one is anxious to gain; 
and who excites admiration by the eloquence of his 
conversation, and esteem by the virtue of his ac- 
tions, while he raises wonder by the obscurity of his 
name, and the mode of his existence. The giddy mul- 
titude solicit him to relinquish his solitude, and seat 
himself on the throne: but they perceive inscribed on 
his forehead, beaming with sacred fire, odi profanum 
vulgus et arceo ; and instead of being his seducers, 
become his disciples.'- But, alas! this extraordinary 
character, whom I saw some years ago in Weteravia, 
who inspired me with filial reverence and affection, 
and whose animated countenance announced the supe- 
rior wisdom and happy tranquillity of his mind, is now 
no more. There did not perhaps at that time exist in 
any court a more profound statesman: he was intimate- 
ly acquainted with all, and corresponded personally 
with some of the most celebrated sovereigns of Europe. 
I never met with an observer who penetrated with 
such quick and accurate sagacity into the minds and 
characters of men, who formed such true opinions of 
the world, or criticised with such discerning accuracy 
the actions of those who were playing important parts 
on its various theatres. There never was a mind more 
free, more enlarged, more powerful, or more engaging; 
or an eye more lively and inquisitive. He was the man, 
of all others, in whose company I could have lived with 
the highest pleasure, and died with the greatest comfort. 
The rural habitation in which he lived, was simple in 
its structure, and modest in its attire; the surrounding 
grounds ana gardens laid out in the happy simplicity 
of nature; and his fare healthy and frugal. I never 
felt a charm more powerful than that which filled my 
bosom while I contemplated the happy solitude of the 
venerable Baron de Schautenbach at Weteravia. 

Rousseau, feeling his end approach, also passed the 
few remaining years of an uneasy life in solitude. It 
was during old age that he composed the best and 
greater part of his ^admirable works ; but, although he 



IN OLD AGE. 14X 

employed his time with judicious activity, his feelings 
had been too deeply wounded by the persecutions of 
the world, to enable him to find complete tranquillity in 
the bowers of retirement. Unhappily he continued ig- 
norant of the. danger of his situation, until the vexa- 
tions of his mind, the disorders of his body, and his 
unpardonable neglect of health, had rendered his re- 
covery impossible. It was not until he had been many 
years tormented by physicians, and racked by a painful 
malady, that he took up his pen ; and his years increa- 
sed only to increase the visible effect of his mental and 
corporeal afflictions, which at length became so acute, 
that he frequently raved wildly or fainted away under 
the excess of his pains. 

It is observed by one of our refined critics, that " all 
Rousseau wrote during his old age is the effect of mad- 
ness." "Yes," replied his fair friend, with greater 
truth, "but he raved so pleasantly, that we are delight- 
ed to run mad with him." 

The mind becomes more disposed to seek its "guar- 
dian angel and its God," the nearer it approaches the 
confines of mortality. When the ardent fire of youth. 
is extinguished, and the meridian heat of life's short 
day subsides into the soft tranquillity and refreshing 
quietude of its evening, we feel the important necessi- 
ty of devoting some few hours to pious meditation be- 
fore we close our eyes in endless night; and the very 
idea of being able to possess this interval of holy lei- 
sure, and to hold this sacred communion with God, re- 
creates the mind, like the approach of spring after a 
dull, a dreary, and a distressing winter. 

Petrarch scarcely perceived the approaches of old 
age. By constant activity he contrived to render re- 
tirement always happy, and year after year rolled un- 
perceived away in pleasures and tranquillity. Seated 
in a verdant arbor in the vicinity of a Carthusian mo- 
nastery, about three miles from Milan, he wrote to his 
friend Settimo witli a simplicity of heart unknown in 
modern times. "Like a wearied traveller, I increase 
my pace in proportion as I approach the end of my 
journey, I pass my days and nights in reading and 
writing ; these agreeable occupations alternately re- 
lieve each other, and are the only sources from whence 
I derive my pleasures. I lie awake and think, and di- 
vert my mind by every means in my power ; and my 
ardor increases as new difficulties arise. Novelties in- 
cite, and obstacles sharpen, my resistance. The labors 



\PZ ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE 

I endure are certain, for my hand is tired of holding 
my pen : but whether I shall reap the harvest of my 
toils I cannot tell. I am anxious to transmit my name 
to posterity : but if I am disappointed in this wish I am 
satisfied the age in Which I live, or at least my friends, 
will know me, and this fame will satisfy me. My 
health is so good, my constitution so robust, and my 
temperament so warm, that neither the advance of years 
nor the most serious occupation, have power to con- 
quer the rebellious enemy by which I am incessantly 
attacked. I should certainly become its victim, as I have 
frequently been, if Providence did not protect me. On 
the approach of spring, I take up arms against the flesh, 
and am even at this moment struggling for my liberty 
against this dangerous enemy." 

A rural retreat, however lonely or obscure, contri- 
butes to increase the fame of those great and noble 
characters who relinquish the world at an advanced 
period of their lives, and pass the remainder of their 
days in solitude : their lustre beams from their retire- 
ment with brighter rays than those which shone 
around them in their earliest days, and on the theatre o c 
their glory. "It is in solitude, in exile, and on the 
bed of death," says Pope, " that the noblest characters 
of antiquity shone with the greatest splendor; it was 
then they performed the greatest services ; for it was 
during those periods that they became useful examples." 
And Rousseau appears to have entertained the same 
opinion: " It is noble," says he, "to exhibit to the eyes 
of men an example of the life they ought to lead. The 
man who, wfeen age or ill health has deprived him of 
activity, dares to resound from his retreat the voice of 
truth, and to announce to mankind the folly of those 
opinions which render them miserable, is a public be- 
nefactor. I should be of much less use to my country- 
men, were I to live among them, than I can possibly be 
in my retreat. Of what importance can it be, whether 
I live in one place or in another, provided I discharge 
my duties properly ?" 

A certain young lady of Germany, however, was of 
opinion that Rousseau was not entitled to praise. She 
maintained that he was a dangerous corrupter of the 
youthful mind, and that he had very improperly dis- 
charged his duties, by discovering in his Confessions 
the moral defects and vicious inclinations of his heart. 
" Such a work written by a man of virtue," said she, 
w would render him an object of abhorrence : but Rous- 



IN OLD AGE. 143 

seau, whose writings are circulated to captivate the 
wicked, proves, by his story of the Ruban Vole, that he 
possesses a heart of the blackest dye. It is evident, 
from many passages in that publication, that it was 
vanity alone which guided his pen ; and from many 
others, that he felt himself conscious he was disclosing 
falsehoods. There is nothing, in short, throughout 
the work that bears the stamp of truth ; and all it in- 
forms us of is, that Madame de Warens was the origi- 
nal from which he drew the character of Julia. These 
unjustly celebrated Confessions contain, generally 
speaking, a great many fine words, and but very few 
good thoughts. If, instead of rejecting every opportu- 
nity of advancing himself in life, he had engaged in 
some industrious profession, he might have been more 
useful to the world than he has been by the publication 
of his dangerous writings." 

This incomparable criticism upon Rousseau merits 
preservation; for, in my opinion, it is the only one of 
its kind. The Confessions of Rousseau is a work 
certainly not proper for the eye of youth ; but to me it 
appears one of the most remarkable philosophic publi- 
cations that the present age has produced. The fine 
style and enchanting colors in which it is written are 
its least merits. The most distant posterity will read 
it with rapture, without inquiring what age the vene- 
rable author had attained when he gave to the world 
this last proof of his sincerity. 

Age, however advanced, is capable of enjoying real 
pleasure. A virtuous old man passes his days with 
serene gayety, and receives, in the happiness he feels 
from the benedictions of all around him, a rich reward 
for the rectitude and integrity of his past life; for the 
mind reviews with joyful satisfaction its honorable and 
self-approving transactions: nor does the near prospect 
of the tomb give fearful emotion to his undismayed 
and steady soul. 

The empress Maria Theresa has caused her own 
mausoleum to be erected, and frequently, accompanied 
by her family, visits with serenity and composure, a 
monumental depository, the idea of which conveys 
such painful apprehension to almost every mind.. 
Pointing it out to the observation of her children, 
" Ought we to be proud or arrogant," says she, "when 
we here behold the tomb in which, after a few years, 
the poor remains of royalty must quietly repose?" 

There are few men capable of thinking with so 



144 ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE 

much sublimity. Every one, however, is capable of 
retiring, at least occasionally, from the corruptions of 
the world ; and if, during this calm retreat, they shall 
happily learn to estimate their past days with propriety 
and to live the remainder in private virtue and public 
utility, the tomb will lose its menacing aspect, and 
death appear like the calm evening of a fine and well 
spent day. 

u Blest be that harifl divine, which gently laid 
My heart at rest beneath this humble shed. 
The wor.d's a stately bark on dang'rous seas, 
With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril ; 
Here, on a single plank, thrown safe ashore, 
I hear the tumult of the distant throng, 
As that of seas remote, or dying storms ; 
And meditate on scenes more silent still ; 
Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death. 
Here, like a shepherd gizing from his hut, 
Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff, 
Eager ambition's fiery chase I see ; 
I see the circling hunt of noisy men 
Burst law's enclosure, leap the mounds of right, 
Pursuing and pursued, each other's prey, 
As wolves for rapine ; as the fox for wiles ; 
Till death., that mighty hunter, earths them all." 

When Addison perceived that he was given over by 
his physicians, and felt his end approaching, he sent 
for Lord Warwick, a young man of very irregular life 
and loose opinions, whom he had diligently, but vainly 
endeavored to reclaim, but who by no means wanted 
respect for the person of his preceptor, and was sensi- 
ble of the loss he was about to sustain. When he en- 
tered the chamber of his dying friend, Addison, who 
was extremely feeble, and whose life at that moment 
hung quivering on his lips, observed a profound si- 
lence. The youth, after a long and awful pause, at 
length said, in low and trembling accents, "Sir, you 
desired to see me : signify your commands, and be as 
sured I will execute them with religious fidelity." 
Addison took him by the hand, and with his expiring 
breath replied, " observe with what tranquillity a Chris- 
tian can die." Such is the consolation which springs 
from a due sense of the principles, and a proper prac- 
tice of the precepts of our holy religion : such is the 
high rew r ard a life of simplicity and innocence bestows. 

He who during the retirement of the day seriously 
studies, and during the silence of the night piously 
contemplates the august doctrines of revelation, will 



IN OLD AGE. 145 

be convinced of their power by experiencing their ef- 
fect. He will review with composure his past errors 
in society, perceive with satisfaction his present com- 
fort in solitude, and aspire with hope to future happi- 
ness in heaven. He will think with the freedom of a 
philosopher, live with the piety of a Christian, and re- 
nounce with ease the poisonous pleasures of society 
from a conviction that they weaken the energies of his 
mind, and prevent his heart from raising itself toward 
his God. Disgusted with the vanities and follies of 
public life, he will retire into privacy, and contemplate 
the importance of eternity. Even if he be still obliged 
occasionally to venture on the stormy sea of busy life, 
he will avoid with greater skill and prudence the rocks 
and sands by which he is surrounded, and steer with 
greater certainty and effect from the tempests which 
most threaten his destruction ; rejoicing less at the 
pleasant course which a favorable wind and clear sky 
may afford him, than at his having happily eluded 
such a multitude of dangers. 

The hours consecrated to God in solitude, are not 
only the most important, but when we are habituated 
to this holy communion, the happiest of our lives. 
Every time we silently elevate our thoughts toward 
the great Author of our being:, we recur to a contem- 
plation of ourselves : and being rendered sensible of 
our nearer approach, not only in idea, but in reality, to 
the seat of eternal felicity, we retire, without regret, 
from the noisy multitude of the world. A philosophic 
view and complete knowledge of the nature of the spe- 
cies creep by degrees upon the mind : we scrutinize 
our characters with greater severity ; feel with redou- 
bled force the necessity of a reformation; and reflect 
with substantial effect on the glorious end for which 
we were created. Conscious that human actions are 
acceptable to the Almighty mind only in proportion as 
they are prompted by motives of the purest virtue, men 
ought benevolently to suppose that every good work 
springs from an untainted source and is performed 
merely for the benefit of mankind ; but human actions 
are exposed to the influence of a variety of secondary 
causes, and cannot always be the pure production of 
an unbiassed heart. Good works, however, from 
whatever motive they arise, always convey a certain 
satisfaction and complacency to the mind. But when 
the real merit of the performer is to be actually inves- 
tigated, the inquiry must always be, whether the mind 
13 



l46 ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE 

was not actuated by sinister views, by the hope of gra- 
tifying a momentary passion, by the feelings of self 
love, rather than by the sympathies of brotherly affec- 
tion: and these subtle and important questions are 
certainly discussed with closer scrutiny, and the mo- 
tives of the heart explored and developed with greater 
sincerity, during those hours when we are alone before 
God than in any other situation. 

Firm and untainted virtue, indeed, cannot be so 
easily and efficaciously acquired, as by practising the 
precepts of Christianity in the bowers of solitude. Re- 
ligion refines our moral sentiments, disengages the 
heart from every vain desire, renders it tranquil under 
misfortunes, humble in the presence of God, and steady 
in the society of men. A life passed in the practice of 
every virtue, affords us a rich reward for all the hours 
we have consecrated to its duties, and enables us in the 
silence of solitude to raise our pure hands and chaste 
hearts in pious adoration to our Almighty Father ! 

How u low, flat, stale, and unprofitable, seem all the 
uses of this world," when the mind, bolaly soaring be- 
yond this lower sphere, indulges the idea that the plea- 
sures which result from a life of innocence and virtue 
may be faintly analogous to the felicities of heaven! 
At least, I trust we may be permitted unoffendingly to 
conceive,, according to our worldly apprehensions, that 
a free and unbounded liberty of thought and action, a 
high admiration of the universal system of nature, a 
participation of the divine essence, a perfect commu- 
nion of friendship, and a pure interchange of love, may 
be a portion of the enjoyments we hope to experience 
in those regions of peace and happiness where no im- 
pure or improper sentiment can taint the mind. But 
notions like these, although they agreeably flatter our 
imaginations, shed at present but a glimmering light 
upon this awful subject, and must continue, like dreams 
and visions of the mind, until the clouds and thick dark- 
ness which surrounded the tomb of mortality no longer 
obscure the bright glories of everlasting life ; until the 
veil shall be rent asunder, and the Eternal shall reveal 
those things which no eye hath seen, no ear has heard, 
and, which passeth all understanding. For I acknow- 
ledge, with awful reverence and silent submission, that 
the" knowledge of eternity is to the human intellect 
like that which the color of crimson appeared to be in 
the mind of a blind man, who compared it to the sound 
of a trumpet. I cannot, however, conceive, that a no- 



IN OLD AGE. 147 

lion more comfortable can be entertained, than that 
eternity promises a constant and uninterrupted tran- 
quillity ; although I am perfectly conscious that it is im- 
possible to form an adequate idea of the nature of that 
enjoyment which is produced by happiness without 
end. An everlasting tranquillity is, in my imagination, 
the highest possible felicity, because I know of no feli- 
city upon earth higher than that which a peaceful mind 
and contented heart afford. 

Since, therefore, internal and external tranquillity is, 
upon earth, an incontestable commencement of beati- 
tude, it may be extremely useful to believe, that a ra- 
tional and qualified seclusion from the tumults of the 
world, may so highly rectify the faculties of the human 
soul, as to enable us to acquire in " blissful solitude" 
the elements of that happiness we expect to enjoy in 
the world to come. 

He is the happy man, whose life e'en now, 

Shows somewhat of that happier life to come : 

Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, 

Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose 

Would make his fate his choice : whom peace, the fruit 

Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith. 

Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 

Content, indeed, to sojourn while he must 

Below the skies, but having there his home, 

The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 

Of objects more illustrious in her view ;. 

And occupied as earnestly as she; 

Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. 

She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; 

He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. 

He cannot skim the ground like such rare birds 

Pursuing gilded flies, and such he deems 

Her honors, her emoluments, her joys. 

Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, 

Whose power i-< such, that whom she lifts from earth 

She makes familiar with a heaven unseen, 

And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. 



END OF PART I. 



SOLITUDE. 

PART 11. 



THE PERNICIOUS INFLUENCE OF A TOTAL SECLUSION FROM 
SOCIETY UPON THE MIND AND THE HEART, 



CHAPTER I. 

Introduction. 

Solitude, in its strict and literal acceptation, is 
equally unfriendly to the happiness, and foreign to the 
nature of mankind. An inclination to exercise the fa- 
culty of speech, to interchange the sentiments of the 
mind, to indulge the affections of the heart, and to re- 
ceive themselves, while they bestow on others, a kind 
assistance and support, drives men, by an ever active, 
and almost irresistible impulse, from solitude to socie- 
ty: and teaches them that the highest temporal felicity 
they are capable of enjoying, must be sought for in a 
suitable union of the sexes, and in a friendly inter- 
course with their fellow creatures. The profoundest 
deductions of reason, the highest flights of fancy, the 
finest sensibilities of the heart, the happiest discoveries 
of science, and the most valuable productions of art. 
are feebly felt, and imperfectly enjoyed, in the cold ana 
cheerless regions of solitude. It is not to the senseless 
rock, or to the passing gale, that we can satisfactorily 
communicate our pleasures and our pains. The heavy 
sighs which incessantly transpire from the vacant bo- 
soms of the solitary hermit and the surly misanthropist, 
indicate the absence of those high delights which ever 
accompany congenial sentiment and mutual affection. 
The soul sinks under a situation in which there are no 
kindred bosoms to participate its joys, and sympathise 
in its sorrows ; and feels, strongly feels, that the bene- 
ficent Creator has so framed and moulded the temper 
of our minds, that society is the earliest impulse and 
the most powerful inclination of our hearts, 
13* 



150 INTRODUCTION. 

Society, however, although it is thus pointed out to 
us, as it were by the finger of the Almighty, as the 
means of reaching our highest possible state of earthly 
felicity, is so pregnant with dangers, that it depends 
entirely on ourselves, whether the indulgence of this 
instinctive propensity shall be productive of happiness 
or misery. 

The pleasures of society, like pleasures of every other 
kind, must, to be pure and permanent, be temperate 
and discreet. While passion animates, and sensibility 
cherishes, reason must direct, and virtue be the object 
of our course. Those who search for happiness in a 
vague, desultory, and indiscriminate intercourse with 
the world ; who imagine the palace of pleasure to be 
surrounded by the gay, unthinking, and volatile part of 
the species; who conceive that the rays of all human 
delight beam from places of public festivity and resort ; 

" Who all their jo) T s in mean profusion waste, 
Without rejection, management, or taste ; 
Careless of all that virtue gives to please ; 
For thought too active, and too mad for ease ; 
Who give each appetite too loose a rein, 
Push all enjoyment to the verge of pain ; 
Impetuous follow where the passions call, 
And live in rapture or not live at all ;*» 

will, instead of lasting and satisfactory fruition, meet 
only with sorrowfal disappointment. This mode of 
seeking society is not a rational indulgence of that na- 
tural passion which heaven, in its benevolence to man, 
has planted in the human heart ; but merely a facti- 
tious desire, an habitual pruriency, produced by rest- 
less leisure, and encouraged by vanity and dissipation. 
Social happiness, true and essential social happiness, 
resides only in the bosom of love and in the arms of 
friendship, and can only be really enjoyed by conge- 
nial hearts and kindred minds, in the domestic bowers 
of privacy and retirement. Affectionate intercourse pro- 
duces an inexhaustible fund of delight. It is the peren- 
nial sunshine of the mind. With what extreme anx- 
iety do we all endeavor to find an amiable being with 
whom we may form a tender tie and close attachement, 
who may inspire us with unfading bliss, and receive 
increase of happiness from our endearments and atten- 
tion ! How greatly do such connexions increase the 
kind and benevolent dispositions of the heart ! and 
Iiow greatly do such dispositions, while they lead the 



INTRODUCTION. 151 

mind to the enjoyment of domestic happiness, awaken 
all the virtues, and call forth the best and strongest 
energies of the soul ! Deprived of the chaste and en- 
dearing sympathies of love and friendship, the species 
sink into gross sensuality or mute indifference, neglect 
the improvement of their faculties, and renounce all 
anxiety to please ; but incited by these propensities, the 
sexes mutually exert their powers, cultivate their ta- 
lents, call every intellectual energy into action ; and, 
by endeavoring to promote each other's happiness, 
mutually secure their own. 

Adverse circumstances, however, frequently prevent 
well disposed characters, not only from making the 
election which their hearts would prompt, and their 
understandings approve, but force them into alliances 
which both reason and sensibility reject. It is from 
the disappointments of love or of ambition that the 
sexes are generally repelled from society to solitude. 
The affection, the tenderness, the sensibility of the 
heart, are but too often torn and outraged by the cru- 
elty and malevolence of an unfeeling world, in which 
vice bears on its audacious front the mask of virtue, 
and betrays innocence into the snares of unsuspected 
guilt. The victims, however, whether of love or of 
ambition, who retire from society to recruit their de- 
pressed spirits, and repair their disordered minds, can- 
not, without injustice, be stigmatized as misanthro- 
pists, or arraigned as anti-social characters. All relish 
for scenes of social happiness may be lost by an ex- 
treme and over ardent passion for the enjoyments of 
them ; but it is only those who seek retirement from 
an aversion to the company of their fellow creatures, 
that can be said to have renounced, or be destitute of, 
the common sympathies of nature. 

The present age, however, is not likely to produce 
many such unnatural characters, for the manners of 
the whole world, and particularly of Europe, were 
never, perhaps, more disposed to company. The rage 
for public entertainments seems to have infected all 
the classes of society. The pleasures of private life 
seem to be held in universal detestation and contempt; 
opprobrious epithets, defame the humble enjoyments of 
domestic love, and those whose hours are not consum- 
ed in unmeaning visits, or unsocial parties, are regard- 
ed as censors of the common conduct of the world, or 
as enemies to their fellow creatures; but although 
mankind appear so extremely social, they certainly 



152 INTRODUCTION. 

were never less friendly and affectionate. Neither 
rank, nor sex, nor age, is free from this pernicious ha- 
bit. Infants, before they can well lisp the rudiments of 
speech, are initiated into the idle ceremonies and pa- 
rade ot company : and can scarcely meet their parents 
or their playmates without being obliged to perform a 
punctilious salutation. Formal card parties, and petty 
treats, engross the time that should be devoted to 
healthful exercise and manly recreation. The man- 
ners of the metropolis are imitated with inferior splen- 
dor, but with greater absurdity, in the country ; every 
village has its routs and its assemblies, in which the 
curled darlings of the place blaze forth in feathered 
lustre and awkward magnificence ; and while the 
charming simplicity of one sex is destroyed by affecta- 
tion, the honest virtues of the other by dissolute gallan- 
try, and the passions of both inflamed by vicious and 
indecent mirth, the grave elders of the districts are try- 
ing their tempers and impoverishing their purses at 
sixpenny whist and cassino. 

The spirit of dissipation has reached even the va- 
grant tribe. The Gypsies of Germany suspend their 
predatory excursions, and on one previously-appointed 
evening in every week, assemble to enjoy their guilty 
spoils in the fumes of strong waters and tobacco. The 
place of rendezvous is generally the vicinity of a mill, 
the proprietor of which, by affording to these wander- 
ing tribes an undisturbed asylum, not only secures 
his property from their depredations, but, by the idle 
tales with which they contrive to amuse his ear, re- 
specting the characters and conduct of his neighbors, 
furnishes himself with new subjects of conversation 
for his next evening coterie. 

Minds that derive all their pleasure from the levity 
and mirth of promiscuous company, are seldom able 
to contribute, in any high degree, to their own amuse- 
ment. Characters like these search every place for en- 
tertainment, except their own bosoms and the bosoms 
of their surrounding families, where by proper cultiva- 
tion, real happiness, the happiness arising from love 
and friendship, is alone capable of beins: found. 

The wearied pleasurist, sinking unBer the weight 
that preys upon his spirits, flies to scenes of public gay- 
ety or private splendor, in fond but vain expectation 
that they will dispel h is discontent, and recreate his mind; 
but he finds, alas ! that the fancied asylum affords him 
no rest. The ever-craving appetite for pastime grows 



INTRODUCTION. 153 

by what it feeds on ; and the worm, which devoured 
his delight amidst his sylvan scenery of solitude, still 
accompanies him to crowded halls of elegance and fes- 
tivity. While he eagerly embraces every object that 
promises to supply the dreadful vacancy of his mind, 
he exhausts his remaining strength; enlarges the wound 
he is so anxiously endeavoring to heal ; and by too ea- 
gerly grasping at the phantom pleasure, loses, perhaps 
for ever, the substantial power of being happy. 

Men whose minds are capable of higher enjoyments 
always feel these perturbed sensations, when deluded 
into a fashionable party, they find nothing to excite cu- 
riosity, or interest their feelings ! and where they are 
pestered by the frivolous importunities of those for 
whom they cannot entertain either friendship or esteem. 
How, indeed, is it possible for a sensible mind to feel 
the. slightest approbation, when a coxcomb enamored 
of his own eloquence, and swoln with the pride of self- 
conceited merit, tires by his loquacious nonsense, all 
around him? 

The great Leibnitz was observed by his servant fre- 
quently to take notes while he sat at church ; and the 
domestic very rationally conceived that he was making 
observations on the subject of the sermon: but it is 
more consistent With the character of this philosopher 
to conclude, that he was indulging the powers of his 
own capacious and excursive mind, when those of the 
preacher ceased to interest him. Thus it happens, that 
while the multitude are driven from solitude to society, 
by being tired of themselves, there are some, and those 
not a few, who seek refuge in rational retirement from 
the frivolous dissipation of company. 

An indolent mind is as irksome to itself as it is in- 
tolerable to others ; but an active mind feels inexhaus- 
tible resources in its own power. The first is forced to 
fly from itself for enjoyment, while the other calmly 
resigns itself to its own suggestions, and always meets 
with the happiness it has vainly sought for in its com- 
munion with the world. 

To rouse the soul from that lethargy into which its 
powers are so apt to drop from the tediousness of life, 
it is necessary to apply a stimulus both to the head and 
to the heart. Something must be contrived to strike 
the senses and interest the mind. But it is much more 
difficult to convey pleasure to others, than to receive it 
ourselves ; and while the many wait in anxious hope of 
being entertained, thev find but few who are capable 



154 INTRODUCTION. 

of entertaining. Disappointment increases the eager- 
ness of desire ; and the uneasy multitude rush to places 
of public resort, endeavoring-, by noise and bustle, fes- 
tive gratification, elegant decoration, rich dresses, splen- 
did illuminations, sportive dances, and sprightly music, 
to awaken the dormant faculties, and agitate the stag- 
nant sensibilities of the soul. These scenes may be con- 
sidered the machineries of pleasure; they produce a tem- 
porary effect, without requiring much effort or co-ope- 
ration to obtain it ; while those higher delights, of 
which retirement is capable, cannot be truly enjoyed 
without a certain degree of intellectual exertion. There 
are, indeed, many minds so totally corrupted by the 
unceasing pursuits of these vain and empty pleasures, 
that they are utterly incapable of relishing intellectual 
delight ; which, as it affords an enjoyment totally un- 
connected with, and independent of, common society, 
requires a disposition and capacity which common com- 
pany can never bestow. Retirement, therefore, and 
its attendant enjoyments, are of a nature too refined 
for the gross and vulgar capacities of the multitude, 
who are more disposed to gratify their intellectual in- 
dolence, by receiving a species of entertainment which 
does not require from them the exertion of thought, 
than to enjoy pleasures of a nobler kind, which can only 
be procured by a rational restraint of the passions, and 
a proper exercise of the powers of the mind. Violent 
and tumultuous impressions can alone gratify such 
characters, whose pleasures like those of the slothful 
Sybarites, only indicate the pain they undergo in striv- 
ing to be happy. 

Men, eager for the enjoyment of worldly pleasures, 
seldom attain the object they pursue. Dissatisfied with 
the enjoyments of the moment, they long for absent 
delight, which seems to promise a more poignant gra- 
tification. Their joys are like those of Tantalus, always 
in view, but never within reach. The activity of such 
characters lead to no beneficial end ; they are perpetually 
in motion, without making any progress : they spur on 
u the lazy foot of time," and then complain of the rapi- 
dity of its flight, only because they have made no good 
use of its presence : they " take no note of time but by 
its loss ;" and year follows year, only to increase their 
uneasiness. If the bright beam of Aurora wake them 
from their perturbed repose, it is only to create new 
anxiety how they are to drag through the passing day. 
The change of season produces no change in their 



INTRODUCTION. J 55 

wearied dispositions ; and every hour comes and goes 
with equal indifference and discontent. 

The pleasures of society, however, although they are 
attended with such unhappy effects, and pernicious 
consequences, to men of weak heaas and corrupted 
hearts, who only follow them for the purpose of indulg- 
ing the follies, and gratifying the vices, to which they 
have given birth, are yet capable of affording to the 
wise and the virtuous, a high, rational, sublime, and 
satisfactory enjoyment. The world is the only theatre 
upon which great and noble actions can be performed, 
or the hei ^hts of moral and intellectual excellence use- 
fully attained. The society of the wise and good, ex- 
clusive of the pleasing relaxation it affords from the 
anxieties of business, and the cares of iife, conveys 
valuable information to the mind, and virtuous feelings 
to the breast. There experience imparts its wisdom in 
a manner equally engaging and impressive ; the facul- 
ties are improved, and knowledge increased. Youth 
and age reciprocally contribute to the happiness of 
each other. Such a society, while it adds firmness to 
the character, gives fashion to the manners ; and opens 
immediately to the view the delightful models of wis- 
dom and integrity. It is only in such society that man 
can rationally hope to exercise, with any prospect of 
success, the latent principle, which continually prompts 
him to pursue the high felicity of which he feels his 
nature capable, and of which the Creator has permitted 
him to form a faint idea. 

" In every human heart there lies reclined 
Some atom pregnant with ethereal mina j 
Some plastic power, some intellectual ray, 
Some genial sunbeam from the source of day ; 
Something that warms, and restless to aspire, 
Wakes the young heart, and sets the soul on fire ; 
And bids us all our inborn powers employ 
To catch the phantom of ideal joy.' 

Sorrow frequently drives its unhappy victims from 
solitude into the vortex of society as a means of relief; 
for solitude is terrible to those whose minds are torn 
with anguish for the loss of some dear friend, whom 
death has, perhaps, taken untimely from their arms; 
and who would willingly renounce all worldly joys to 
hear one accent of that beloved voice, which used, in 
calm retirement, to fill his ear with harmony, and his 
heart with rapture. 



156 INTRODUCTION. 

Solitude also is terrible to those whose felicity is 
founded on popular applause ; who have acquired a de- 
gree of fame by intrigue, and actions of counterfeited 
virtue; and who suffer the most excruciating anxiety 
to preserve their spurious fame. Conscious of the 
fraudulent means by which they acquire possession of 
it, and of the weak foundation on which it is built, it 
appears continually to totter, and always ready to over- 
whelm them in its ruins. Their attention is sedulously 
called to every quarter ; and, in order to prop up the 
unsubstantial fabric, they bend with mean submission 
to the pride of power ; flatter the vanity, and accommo- 
date themselves to the vices of the great ; censure the 
genius that provokes their jealousy ; ridicule the virtue 
that shames the conduct of their patrons ; submit to all 
the follies of the age; take advantage of its errors; 
cherish its prejudices ; applaud its superstition, and de- 
fend its vices. The fashionable circles may, perhaps, 
welcome such characters as their best supporters and 
highest ornaments ; but to them the calm and tranquil 
pleasures of retirement are dreary and disgusting. 

To all those, indeed, whcm vice has betrayed into 
guilt, and whose bosoms are stung by the adders of re- 
morse, solitude is doubly terrible; and they fly from 
its shades to scenes of worldly pleasure, in the hope of 
being able to silence the keen reproaches of violated 
conscience in the tumults of society. Vain attempt ! 

Solitude, indeed, as well as religion, has been repre- 
sented in such dismal, disagreeable colors, by those 
who were incapable of tasting its sweets, and enjoying 
its advantages, that many dismiss it totally from all 
their schemes of happiness, and fly to it only to allevi- 
ate the bitterness of some momentary passion, or tem- 
porary adversity, or to hide the blushes of approaching 
shame. But there are advantages to be derived from 
solitude, even under such circumstances, by those who 
are otherwise incapable of enjoying them. Those who 
know the most delightful comforts, and satisfactory 
enjoyments, of which a well regulated solitude is pro- 
ductive, like those who are acquainted with the solid 
benefits to be derived from religion, will seek retire- 
ment, in the hours of prosperity and content, as the 
only means by which they can be enjoyed in true per- 
fection. The tranquillity of its shades will give rich- 
ness to their joys ; its uninterrupted quietude will enable 
them to expatiate on the fullness of their felicity ; and 
they will turn their eyes with soft compassion on the 



OF THE MOTIVES 157 

miseries of the world, when compared with the bless- 
ings they enjoy. 

Strongly, therefore, as the social principle operates in 
our breast ; and necessary as it is, when properly regu- 
lated, to the improvement of our minds, the refinement 
of our manners, and the melioration of our hearts ; yet 
some portion of our time ought to be devoted to ra- 
tional retirement : and we must not conclude that those 
who occasionally abstain from the tumultuous plea- 
sures, and promiscuous enjoyments of the world, are 
morose characters, or of peevish dispositions: nor stig- 
matize those who appear to prefer the calm delights of 
solitude to the tumultuous pleasures of the world, as 
unnatural and anti-social. 

" Whoever thinks, must see that man was made 
To face the storm, not languish in the shade : 
Action's his sphere, and for that sphere design'd, 
Eternal pleasures open on his mind. 
For this fair hope leads on th' impassion'd soul 
Through life's wild lab'rinths to her distant goal, 
Paints in each dream, to fan the genial flame, 
The pomp of riches, and the pride of fame* 
Or fondly gives reflection's cooler eye 
In solitude, an image of a future sky." 



CHAPTER II. 

Of the motives to solitude. 

The motives which induce men to exchange the tu- 
multuous joys of society, for the calm and temperate 
pleasures of solitude, are various and accidental ; buj; 
whatever may be the final cause of such an exchange, 
it is generally founded on an inclination to escape from 
some present or impending constraint; to shakeofifthe 
shackles of the world ; to taste the sweets of soft re- 
pose ; to enjoy the free and undisturbed exertion of the 
intellectual faculties ; or to perform, beyond the reach 
of ridicule, the important duties of religion. But the 
busy pursuits of worldly minded men prevent the great- 
er part of the species from feeling these motives, and, 
of course, from tasting the sweets of unmolested exist- 
ence. Their pleasures are pursued in paths which lead 
to \ery different goals : and the real, constant, and un- 
affected lover of retirement is a character so rarely 
found, that it seems to prove the truth of lord Veru- 
14 



158 OF THE MOTIVES 

lam's observation, that he who is really attached to sol- 
itude, must be either more or less than man ; and cer- 
tain it is, that while the wise and virtuous discover in 
retirement an uncommon and transcending brightness 
of character, the vicious and the ignorant are buried 
under its weight, and sink even beneath their ordinary 
level. Retirement gives additional firmness to the 
principles of those who seek it from a noble love of in- 
dependence, but loosens the feeble consistency of those 
who only seek it from novelty and caprice. 

To render solitude serviceable, the powers of the 
mind, and the sensibilities of the heart, must be co- 
equal, and reciprocally regulate each other; weakness 
of intellect, when joined with quick feelings, hurries 
its possessor into all the tumult of worldly pleasure ; 
and when mingled with torpid insensibility, impels him 
to the cloister. Extremes, both in solitude and in so- 
ciety, are equally baneful. 

A strong sense of shame, the keen compunctions of 
conscience, a deep regret for past follies, the mortifica- 
tion arising from disappointed hopes, and the dejection 
which accompanies disordered health, sometimes so 
affect the spirits, and destroy the energies of the mind, 
that the soul shrinks back upon itself at the very ap- 
proach of company, and withdraws to the shades of 
solitude, only to brood and languish in obscurity. The 
inclination to retire, in cases of this description, arises 
from a fear of meeting the reproaches or disregard of 
an unpitying and unreflecting world, and not from that 
erect spirit which disposes the mind to self enjoyment. 

The disgust arising from satiety of worldly pleasures, 
frequently induces a temporary desire for solitude. 
The dark and gloomy nature, indeed, of this disposi- 
tion, is such as neither the splendors of a throne, nor 
the light of philosophy, are able to irradiate and dispel. 
The austere and petulant Heraclitus abandoned all the 
pleasures and comforts of society, in the vain hope 01 
being able to gratify his discontented mind, by indulg- 
ing an antipathy against his fellow creatures; flying 
from their presence he retired, like his predecessor 
Timon, to a high mountain, where he lived for many 
years among the beasts of the desert, on the rude pro- 
duce of the earth, regardless of all the comforts a civi- 
lized society is capable of bestowing. Such a temper 
of mind proceeds from a sickened intellect and disor 
dered sensibility, and indicates the loss of that fine, but 
firm sense of pleasure, from which alone all real en 



TO SOLITUDE. 159 

joyment must spring. He who having tasted all that 
can delight the senses, warm the heart, and satisfy the 
mind, secretly sighs over the vanity of his enjoyments, 
and beholds all the cheering objects of life with indif- 
ference, is, indeed, a melancholy example of the sad 
effects which result from an intemperate pursuit of 
worldly pleasures. Such a man may, perhaps, abandon 
society, for it is no longer capable of affording him de- 
light ; but he will be debarred from all rational soli- 
tude, because he is incapable of enjoying it, and a re- 
fuge to the brute creation seems his only resource. I 
have, indeed, observed even noblemen and princes in 
the midst of abundance, and surrounded by all the 
splendor that successful ambition, high state, vast 
riches, and varying pleasures can confer, sinking the 
sad victims of satiety; disgusted with their glories; 
and dissatisfied with all those enjoyments which are 
supposed to give a higher relish to the soul ; but they 
had happily enriched their minds with notions far su- 
perior to all those which flow from the corrupted 
scenes of vitiated pleasures ; and they found, in soli- 
tude, a soft and tranquil pillow, which invited their 
perturbed minds, and at length lulled their feelings 
into calm repose. These characters were betrayed for a 
time by the circumstances which surrounded their ex- 
alted stations into an excess of enjoyment ; but they 
were able to relish the simple occupations, and to en- 
joy the tranquil amusements of retirement, with as 
much satisfaction as they had formerly pursued the 
political intrigues of the cabinet, the hostile glories of 
the field, or the softer indulgences of peaceful luxury; 
and were thereby rendered capable of deriving comfort 
and consolation from that source which seems only to 
heighten and exasperate the miseries of those whose 
minds are totally absorbed in the dissipations of life. 

The motives, indeed, which lead men either to tem- 
porary retirement, or absolute solitude, are innumera- 
bly various. Minds delicately susceptible to the im- 
pressions of virtue, frequently avoid society, only to 
avoid the pain they feel in observing the vices and fol- 
lies of the world. Minds active and vigorous, frequent- 
ly retire to avoid the clogs and incumbrances by which 
the tumults and engagements of society distract and 
impede the free and full enjoyment of their faculties 
The basis, indeed, of every inclination to solitude is 
the love of liberty, either mental or corporeal ; a free 
dom from all constraint and interruption : but the form 



160 OF THE MOTIVES 

in which the inclination displays itself, varies accord- 
ing to the character and circumstances of the indi- 
' vidual. 

Men who are engaged in pursuits foreign to the 
natural inclination of their minds, sigh continually for 
retirement, as the only means of recruiting their fa- 
tigued spirits, and procuring a comfortable repose. 
Scenes of tranquillity can alone afford them any idea 
of enjoyment. A rerined sense of duty, indeed, fre- 
quently induces noble minds to sacrifice all personal 
pleasures to the great interests of the public, or the pri- 
vate benefits of their fellow creatures ; and they resist 
every opposing obstacle with courage, and bear every 
adversity with fortitude, under those cheering senti- 
ments, and proud delights, which result from the pur- 
suits of active charity and benevolence, even though 
their career be thwarted by those whose advantages 
they design to promote. The exhilarating idea of 
bein^ instrumental in affording relief to suffering hu- 
manity, reconciles every difficulty, however great : 
prompts to new exertions, however fruitless; and sus- 
tains them in those arduous conflicts, in which all who 
aspire to promote the interest, and improve the happi- 
ness of mankind, must occasionally engage, especially 
when opposed by the pride and profligacy of the rich 
and great, and the obstinacy and caprice of the igno- 
rant and unfeeling. But the most virtuous and steady 
minds cannot always bear up against " a sea of trou- 
bles, or by opposing, end them :" and, depressed by 
temporary adversities, will arraign the cruelty of their 
condition, and sigh for the shades of peace and tran- 
quillity. How transcendent must be the enjoyment of 
a great and good minister who, after having anxiously 
attended to the important business of the state, and dis- 
engaged himself from the necessary but irksome occu- 
pation of official detail, refreshes his mind in the calm 
of some delightful retreat, with works of taste, and 
thoughts of fancy and imagination ! A change, indeed, 
both of scene and sentiment, is absolutely necessary, 
not only in the serious and important employments, but 
even in the common occupations and idle amusements 
of life. Pleasure springs fiorn contrast. The most 
charming object loses a portion of its power to delight, 
by being continually beheld. Alternate society and so- 
litude are necessary to the full enjoyment of both the 
pleasures of the world and the delights of retirement. 
It is, however, asserted that the celebrated Pascal, 



TO SOLITUDE. 161 

whose life was far from being inactive, that quietude is 
a beam of the original purity of our nature, and that 
the height of human happiness is in solitude and tran- 
quillity. Tranquillity, indeed, is the wish of all: the 
good, while pursuing the track of virtue; the great 
while following the star of glory; and the little, while 
creeping in thef styes of dissipation, sigh for tranquillity 
and make it the great object which they ultimately 
hope to attain. How anxiously does the sailor, on the 
high and giddy mast, when rolling through tempestu- 
ous seas, cast his eyes over the foaming billows, and 
anticipate the calm security he hopes to enjoy when he 
reaches the wished for shore ! Even kings grow weary 
of their splendid slavery, and nobles sicken under in- 
creasing dignities. All, in short, feel less delight in the 
actual enjoyment of worldly pursuits, how T ever great 
and honorable they may be, than in the idea of their 
being able to relinquish them and retire to 

" some calm sequestered spot ; 

The world forgetting, by the world forgot." 

The restless and ambitious Pyrrhus hoped that ease 
and tranquillity would be the ultimate reward of his en- 
terprising conquests. Frederic the great, discovered, 
perhaps unintentionally, how pleasing and satisfactory 
the idea of tranquillity was to his mind, when imme- 
diately after he had gained a glorious and important 
victory, he exclaimed on the field of battle, " Oh that 
my anxieties may now be ended I" The emperor Jo- 
seph also displayed the predominancy of his passion for 
tranquillity and retirement, when on asking the famous 
German pedestrian, Baron Grothaus, what countries he 
next intended to traverse, was told a long number in 
rapid succession. "And what then?" continued the 
emperor. " Why then," replied the baron, " I intend 
to retire to the place of my nativity, and enjoy myself 
in rural quietude, and the cultivation of my patrimonial 
farm." " Ah, my good friend," exclaimed the emperor, 
"if you will trust the voice of sad experience, you had 
better neglect the walk, and retire before it is too late, 
to the quietude and tranquillity you propose." 

Publius Scipio, surnamed Africanus, during the time 
that he was invested with the highest offices of Rome, 
and immediately engaged in the most important con- 
cerns of tl*** empire, withdrew whenever an opportu- 
nity occurred, from public observation, to peaceful pri- 
14* 



162 OF THE MOTIVES 

vacy ; and though not devoted, like Tully, to the ele- 
gant occupations of literature and philosophy, declared 
that "he was never less alone than when alone." He 
was, says Plutarch, incomparably the first both in vir- 
tue and power, of the Romans of his time; but in his 
highest tide of fortune, he voluntarily abandoned the 
scene of his glory, and calmly retired to his beautiful 
villa in the midst of a romantic forest, near Liturnum, 
where he closed, in philosophic tranquillity, the last 
years of a long and splendid life. 

Cicero, in the plenitude of his power, at a time when 
his influence over the minds of his fellow citizens was 
at its height, retired, with the retiring liberties of ins 
country, to his Tusculum villa, to deplore the approach- 
ing fate of his beloved city, and to ease, in soothing 
solitude, the anguish of his heart. 

Horace, also, the gay and elegant favorite of the 
great Augustus, even in the meridian rays of royal fa- 
vor, renounced the smiles of greatness, and all the se- 
ductive blandishments of an imperial court, to enjoy 
his happy muse among the romantic wilds of his se- 
questered villa of Tibur, near the lake Albunea. 

But there are few characters who have passed the 
concluding scenes of life with more real dignity than 
the emperor Dioclesian. In the twenty-first year of 
his reign, though he had never practised the lessons of 
philosophy either in the attainment or the use of su- 
preme power, and although his reign had flowed with 
a tide of uninterrupted success, he executed his memo- 
rable resolution of abdicating the empire, and gave the 
world the first example of a resignation which has not 
been very frequently imitated by succeeding monarchs. 
Dioclesian was at this period only fifty-nine years of 
age, and in the full possession of his mental faculties : 
but he had vanquished all his enemies, and executed 
all his designs; and his active life, his wars, his jour- 
neys, the cares of royalty, and his application to busi- 
ness having impaired his constitution, and brought on 
the infirmities of a premature old age, he resolved to 
pass the remainder of his days in honorable repose ; to 
place his glory beyond the reach of fortune, and to re- 
linquish the theatre of the world to his younger and 
more active associates. The ceremony of his abdica- 
tion was performed in a spacious plain, about three 
miles from Nicomedia. The emperor ascended a lofty 
throne, and, in a speech full of reason and dignity, 
declared his intention both to the people and to the sol- 



TO SOLITUDE. 163 

diers, who were assembled on this extraordinary occa- 
sion. As soon as he had divested himseli of the pur- 
ple, he withdrew from the gazing multitude; and tra- 
versing the city in a covered chariot, proceeded without 
delay to the favorite retirement which he had chosen in 
his native country of Dalmatia. The emperor, who, 
from a servile origin, had raised himself to the throne, 
passed the last nine years of his life in a private condi- 
tion at Salona. Reason had dictated, and content 
seems to have accompanied, his retreat, in which he 
enjoyed for a long time the respect of those princes to 
whom he had resigned the possession of the world. It 
is seldom that minds long exercised in business have 
formed any habits of conversing with themselves, 
and in the loss of power, they principally regret the 
want of occupation. The amusements of letters and 
of devotion, which afford so many resources in solitude, 
were incapable of fixing the attention of Dioclesian : 
but he had preserved, or, at least, he soon recovered, a 
taste for the most innocent as well as natural pleasures; 
and his leisure hours were sufficiently employed in 
building, planting, and gardening, y His answer to 
Maximian is deservedly celebrated.,^ >He was solicited 
by that restless old man to resume the reins of govern- 
ment and the imperial purple. He rejected the temp- 
tation with a smile of pity, calmly observing, that if he 
could show Maximian the cabbages he had planted at 
Salona, he should be no longer urged to relinquish the 
enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power. In 
his conversations with his friends he frequently ac- 
knowledged, that of all the arts the most difficult was 
that of reigning ; and he expressed himself on that 
favorite topic with a degree of warmth which could be 
the result only of experience. " How often," was he ac- 
customed to say, " is it the interest of four or five mi- 
nisters to combine together to deceive the sovereign ! 
Secluded from mankind by his exalted dignity, the 
truth is concealed from his knowledge : he can only 
see with their eyes ; he hears nothing but their misrepre- 
sentations. He confers the most important offices upon 
vice and weakness,-<and disgraces the most virtuous 
and deserving among his subjects ; and by such infa- 
mous acts the best and wisest princes are sold to the 
venal corruption of their courtiers." A just estimate 
of greatness, and the assurance of immortal fame, im- 
prove our relish for the pleasures of retirement. 
Zenobia, the celebrated queen of Palmyra and the 



164 OF THE MOTIVES 

east ; a female whose superior genius broke through 
the servile indolence imposed on her sex by the climate 
and manners of Asia, the most lovely as well as the 
most heroic of her sex, who spread the terror of her 
arms over Arabia, Armenia, and Persia, and kept even 
the legions of the Roman empire in awe, was, after the 
two great battles of Autiochand Emesa, at length sub- 
dued, and made the illustrious captive of the emperor 
Aurelian ; but the conqueror, respecting the sex. the 
beauty, the courage and endowments of the Syrian 
queen, not only preserved her life, but presented her 
with an elegant villa at Tiburor Tivoli, about twenty 
miles from Rome; where, in happy tranquillity, she 
fed the greatness of her soul with the noble images of 
Homer, and the exalted precepts of Plato ; supported 
the adversity of her fortunes with fortitude and resig- 
nation ; and learnt that the anxieties attendant on am- 
bition are happily exchanged for the enjoyments oi 
ease and the comforts of philosophy. 

Charles V. resigned the government of the empire 
to his brother the king of the Romans ; and transfer- 
red all claims of obedience and allegiance to him from 
the Germanic body, in order that he might no longer 
be detained from that retreat for which he long fiad 
languished. In passing, some years before, from Val- 
ladolid to Placentia, in the Province of Estremadura, 
he was struck with the delightful situation of the 
monastery of St. Justus, belonging to the order of St. 
Jerome, not many miles distant from the town ; and ob- 
served to some of his attendants, that this was a spot 
to which Dioclesian might have retired with pleasure. 
The impression remained upon his mind, and he de- 
termined to make it the place of his own retreat. It 
was seated in a vale of no great extent, watered by a 
small brook, and surrounded bv rising grounds covered 
with lofty trees; and from the nature of the soil, as 
well as the temperature of the climate, was esteemed 
the most healthfuUand delicious situation in Spain. 
Some months before his resignation, he had sent an 
architect thither to add a new apartment to the monas- 
tery for his accommodation ; but he gave strict orders 
that the style of the buildL.g should "be such as suited 
his present station rather than his former dignity. It 
consisted only of six rooms ; four of them in the form 
of friar's cells, with naked walls ; the other two, each 
twenty feet square, were hung with brown cloth, and 
furnished in the most simple manner j they were all on 



TO SOLITUDE. 165 

a level with the ground, with a door on one side into a 
garden of which Charles himself had given the plan, 
and had filled it with various plants, which he intended 
to cultivate with his own hands. On the other side 
they communicated with the chapel of the monastery, 
in which he was to perform his devotions. In this 
humble retreat, hardly sufficient for the comfortable 
accommodation of a private gentleman, did Charles 
enter with twelve domestics only, and buried in solitude 
and silence his grandeur, his ambition, and all those 
vast projects which, during almost half a century, had 
alarmed and agitated Europe ; filling every kingdom in 
it by turns with the terror of his arms, and the dread 
of being subdued by his power. 

These instances of resignation and retirement, to 
which many others might have been added, sufficient- 
ly prove that a desire to live in free leisure, indepen- 
dent of the restraints of society, is one of the most 
powerful affections of the human mind ; and that soli- 
tude, judiciously and rationally employed, amply com- 
pensates all that is sacrificed for the purpose of enjoy- 
ing it. 

But there are many other resources from whence 
an anti-social disposition may arise, which merits con- 
sideration. That terrible malady, the hypocondria, 
frequently renders the unhappy sufferer not only 
averse to society in general, but even fearful of meet- 
ing a human being ; and the still more dreadful malady 
a wounded hearty increases our antipathy to mankind. 
The fear of unfounded calumny also sometimes drives 
weak and dejected minds into the imaginary shelter of 
obscurity ; and even strong and honest characters, prone 
to disclose their real sentiments, are disgusted at the 
world from a consciousness of its being unable to listen 
temperately to the voice of truth. The obstinacy with 
which mankind persist in habitual errors, and the vio- 
lence with which they indulge inveterate passions, a 
deep regret for their follies, and the horror which their 
vices create, drives us frequently from their presence. 
The love of science, a fondness for the arts, and an at- 
tachment to the immortal works of genius, induce, I 
trust, not a few to neglect all anxiety to learn the com- 
mon news of the day, and keep them in some calm, 
sequestered retreat far from the unmeaning manners 
of the noisy world, improving the genuine feelings of 
their hearts, and storing their minds with the principles 
of true philosophy. There are others, though I fear they 



166 OF THE MOTIVES 

are few, who, impressed by a strong sense of the du- 
ties of religion, and feeling how incompatible with 
their practice are most, if not all, the factitious joys of 
social life, retire from the corrupted scene, to contem- 
plate, in sacred privacy, the attributes of a Being unal- 
terably pure, and infinitely good; to impress upon their 
minds so strong a sense of the importance of obedience 
to the divine will, of the value of the reward promised 
to virtue, and the terrors of the punishment denounced 
against crimes, as may overbear all temptations which 
temporal hope or fear can bring in their way, and ena- 
ble them to bid equal defiance to joy and sorrow ; to 
turn away at one time from the allurements of ambi- 
tion, and press forward at another against the threats 
of calamity. 

The dejection occasioned by the hypochondria ren- 
ders the mind not only averse from, but wholly inca- 
pable of, any pleasure, and induces the unhappy suffer- 
er to seek a solitude by which it is increased. The in- 
fluence of this dreadful malady is so powerful, that it 
destroys all hope of remedy, and prevents those exer- 
tions, by which alone, we are told it can be cured. 

To cure the mind's wrong bias — spleen, 
Some recommend the bowling-green j 
Some, hilly walks; all, exercise; 
Fling but a stone, the giant dies ; 
Laugh, and be well. Monkies have been 
Extreme good doctors for the spleen j 
And kittens, if the humor hit, 
Have harlequined away the fit. 

But, alas ! the heart shuts itself against every pleas- 
ing sensation, and the mind dismisses every cheering 
sentiment. Joy opens in vain its festajjarms to receive 
him; and he shuns embraces, whose lignt and mirthful 
air would only serve to increase the melancholy of his 
dreary and distempered mind. Even the tender, affec- 
tionate offices of friendship, in endeavoring to sooth 
and divert his mind by lively conversation and social 
intercourse, appear officious and ill-timed. His spirits 
are quite dejected; his faculties become torpid ; and his 
sense of enjoyment is annihilated. The charming air 
which breathes to us the sweetest, fragrance, and most 
invigorating delights, feels to him like a pestilent con- 
gregation of vapors. 

His pensive spirit takes the lonely grove 
Sightly he visits all the sylvan scenes. 



TO SOLITUDE. 167 

Where, far remote, a melancholy moon 

Raisins: her head, serene and shorn of beams, 

Throws here and there the glimmerings through the trees, , 

To make more awful darkness. 

Conscious that his frame is totally unstrung, and that 
his pulse is incapable of beating in any pleasant unison 
with the feelings of his healthful friends, he withers 
into sorrowful decay. Every object around him ap- 
pears to be at enmity with his feelings, and comes 
shapeless and discolored to his disordered eyes. The 
gentle voice of pity grates his ears with harsh and hol- 
low sounds, and seems to reproach him with insulting 
tones. Stricken by his dreadful malady, the lamenta- 
ble effects of which a cruel and unfeeling world so of- 
ten ridicule and despise, and constantly tearing open 
the wound it has occasioned, the afflicted spirit flies 
from every scene of social joy and animating pleasure, 
seeks as a sole resource, to hide its sorrows in solitary 
seclusion, and awaits, in lingering sufferance; the stroke 
of death. 

The erroneous opinions, perverse dispositions, and 
inveterate prejudices of the world, are sometimes the 
causes which induce men to retire from society, and 
seek in solitude the enjoyments of innocence and truth. 
Careless of a commerce with those for whom they can 
entertain no esteem, their minds naturally incline to- 
ward those scenes in which their fancy paints the fair- 
est form of felicity. He, indeed, whose free and inde- 
pendent spirit is resolved to permit his mind to think for 
itself; who disdains to form his feelings, and to fashion 
his opinions, upon the capricious notions of the world ; 
who is too candid to expect that others should be guid- 
ed by his notions, and sufficiently firm not to obey im- 
plicitly the hasty notions of others ; who seeks to cul- 
tivate the just and manly feelings of the heart, and 
to pursue truth in the paths of science, must detach 
himself from the degenerate crowd, and seek his en- 
joyments in retirement. For to those who love to 
consult their own ideas, to form opinions upon their 
own reasonings and discernment, and to express only 
such sentiments as they really ieel, a society whose 
judgments are borrowed, whose literature is only spe- 
cious, and whose principles are unfounded, must not 
only be irksomely insipid, but morally dangerous. The 
firm and noble minded disdain to bow their necks to 
the slavish yoke of vulgar prejudice, and appeal, in 
support of their opinions, to the higher tribunal of sense 
and reason, from the partial and ill-formed sentences of 



168 OF THE MOTIVES 

conceited critics, who, destitute themselves of an> 
sterling merit, endeavor to depreciate the value of that 
coin whose weight and purity render it current, and to 
substitute their own base and varnished compositions 
in its stead. Those self-created who proudly place 
themselves in the professor's chair, look with an envi- 
ous and malignant eye on all the works of genius, taste, 
and sense ; and as their interests are intimately blended 
with the destruction of every sublime and elegant pro- 
duction, their cries are raised against them the moment 
they appear. To blast the fame of merit is their chief 
object and their highest joy: and their lives are indus- 
triously employed to stifle the discoveries, to impede 
the advancement, to condemn the excellency, and to 
pervert the meaning of their more ingenious contem- 
poraries. Like loathsome toads, they grovel on the 
ground, and, as they move along, emit a nasty slime, 
or frothy venom, on the sweetest shrubs and fairest 
flowers of the fields. 

From the society of such characters, who seem to 
consider the noble productions of superior intellect, 
the fine and vigorous flights of fancy, the brilliant effu- 
sions of a sublime imagination, and the refined feelings 
of the heart, as fancied conceits or wild deliriums, 
those who examine them by a better standard than 
that of fashion or common taste, fly with delight. 

The reign of envy, however, although it is perpetual 
as to the existence of the passion, is only transitory as 
to the objects of its tyranny ; and the merit which has 
fallen the victim of its rage, is frequently raised by the 
hand of truth, and placed on the throne of public ap- 
plause. A production of genius, however the ears of 
its author were deafened, during his life, by the cla- 
mors of calumny, and hisses of ignorance,' is reviewed 
with impartiality when he dies, and revived by the ac- 
clamations of ingenuous applause. The reproach 
which the life of a" great and good man is continually 
casting on his mean and degenerate contemporaries, is 
silenced by his death. He is remembered only in the 
character of his works ; and his fame increases with 
the successive generations, which his sentiments and 
opinions contribute to enlighten and adorn. 

The history of the celebrated English philosopher, 
David Hume, affords, perhaps, a stronger instance of 
the danger^ to which wit and learning are exposed 
from the malicious shafts of envy, ignorance, and into- 
lerance, than that of any other author. The tax in- 



TO SOLITUDE. 169 

deed, is common to authors of every description, but 
it frequently falls the heaviest on the highest heads. 
This profound philosopher and elegant historian, pos- 
sessed a mild temper; a lively, social disposition; a 
high sense of friendship, and incorruptible integrity. 
His manners, indeed, appeared, at first sight, cold and 
repulsive ; for he had sacrificed little to the graces : but 
his mind was invariably cheerful, and his affections un- 
commonly warm and generous : and neither his ardent 
desire of fame, nor the gross and unfounded calumnies 
of his enemies, were capable of disturbing the happy 
tranquillity of his heart. His life was passed in the 
constant exercise of humanity and benevolence; and 
even those who had been seduced, by the jealous and 
vindictive artifices of others, wantonly to attack his 
fame and character with obloquy and reproach, expe- 
rienced his kindness, and acknowledged his virtues. 
He would never indeed confess that his friends had 
ever had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of 
his character or conduct, or that he had ever been at- 
tacked either by the baleful tooth % of envy, or the rage 
of civil or religious faction., His company, indeed, w r as 
equally agreeable to all classes of society ; and 
young and old, rich and poor, listened with pleasure to 
his conversation, and quitted his company with regret; 
for although he was deeply learned, and his discourses 
replete with sagacity and science, he had the happy art 
of delivering his sentiments upon all subjects without 
the appearance of ostentation, or in any way offending 
the feelings of his hearers. w 

The interests of religion are said to have suffered by 
the abuse of his talents ; but the precepts of Christiani- 
ty were never more powerfully recommended, than by ' 
the integrity of his morals, and the purity of his life. 
His benign and gentle spirit, attached to virtue, and j 
averse from every species of vice, essentially promoted " 
the practice of piety, and the duties of a religious mind ; 
and did not, as is always the case with the zeal of per- 
secution and martyrdom, tear away the very founda- 
tion of that fabric which it pretends to support. The 
excellency, indeed, both of the head and the heart of 
this great and good man, enabled him not only to en- 
joy himself with perfect felicity, but to contribute to 
the improvement, and increase the happiness of man- 
kind. This is the opinion now generally entertained 
of the character , of Hume; but far different were the 
sentiments of his contemporaries upon this subject. It 
15 



170 OF THE MOTIVES 

was neither in a barbarous country, or in an unenlight- 
ened age, that he lived ; but. although the land was 
free, the people philosophical, and the spirit of the 
times provoked the minds of learned men to metaphy- 
sical inquiry, the fame of Hume was wrecked upon his 
moral and religious writings** He was charged with 
being a sceptic ; but from the propagation of certain 
doctrines, and the freedom of inquiry which had then 
gone forth, it is impossible to attribute his disappoint- 
ments to this cause. A kind of natural prejudice, in- 
deed, prevailed in England at this period against the 
Scots ; but as he did not experience much favor from 
his own countrymen, no conclusion can be fairly 
drawn from this circumstance ; and the extraordinary 
History of his Literary Transactions, a work written 
by himself, cannot be perused without an equal degree 
of surprise and concern. The contemptuous repulses 
which his several compositions received from the pub- 
lic, appear incredible ; but the facts lie relates are un- 
doubtedly authentic ; and while they raise a sorrowful 
regret for the fate of Hume in particular, they most 
unhappily tend to diminish the ardor of the student, 
who contemplates the various dangers to which his 
desire of fame may be exposed, and. may, perhaps, in- 
duce him to quit the pursuit of an object " so hard to 
gain, so easy to be lost." 

The melancholy history of the literary career of the 
celebrated Hume, as appears from the short sketch he 
made of his own life, while he calmly waited, under 
an incurable disorder, the moment of approaching dis- 
solution ; a work which proclaims the mildness, the 
modesty, and the resignation of his temper, as clearly 
as his other works demonstrate the power and extent 
of his mind. The history, indeed, of every man who 
attempts to destroy the reigning prejudices^pr correct 
the prevailing errors, of his age and counfry, is nearly 
the same. He who has the happiness to see objects of 
any description with greater perspicuity than his con- 
temporaries, and presumes to disseminate his superior 
knowledge, by the unreserved publication of his opi 
nions, sets himself up as a common mark for the shafts 
of envy and resentment to pierce, and seldom escapes 
from being charged with wicked designs against the 
interests of mankind. A writer, "whatever his charac- 
ter, station, or talents may be, will find that he has a 
host of malevolent inferiors ready to sieze every oppor 
tunity of gratifying their humbled pride, by attempting 



TO SOLITUDE. 171 

to level his superior merits, and subdue his rising fame. 
Even the compassionate few, who are ever ready to 
furnish food to the hungry, clothing to the naked, and 
consolation to the afflicted, seldom feel any other sen- 
sation than that of jealousy on beholding the wreath of 
merit placed on the brow of a deserving rival.* The 
Ephesians, with republican pride, being unable to en- 
dure the reproach which they felt from the pre- 
eminency of any individual, banished to some other 
state, the citizen who presumed to excel the generality 
of his countrymen. It would be, in some measure, 
adopting this egregious and tyrannical folly, were I to 
exhort the man whose merits transcend those who are 
his equals in rank, or station, to break off all inter- 
course and connexion with them ; but 1 am certain 
that he might, by an occasional retirement^ elude the 
effects of their envy, and avoid those provocations to 
which, by his superiority, he will otherwise be continu- 
ally exposed. 

To treat the frailties of our fellow creatures with 
tenderness, to correct their errors with kindness, to 
view even their vices with pity, and to induce, by every 
friendly attention, a mutual complacency and gooi 
will, is not only an important moral duty, but a means 
of increasing the sum of earthly happiness. It is, in- 
deed, difficult to prevent an honest mind from bursting 
forth with generous indignation against those artful 
hypocrites who, by specious and plausible practices, 
obtain the false character of being wise and good, and 
obtrude their flimsy and heterodox opinions upon the 
unthinking world, as the fair and genuine sentiments 
of truth and virtue. The anger which arises in a ge- 
nerous and ardent mind, on hearing a noble action 
calumniated, or a useful work illiberally attacked, is 
not easily restrained ; but such feelings should be 
checked and regulated with a greater degree of cau- 
tion than even if they were less virtuous and praise- 
worthy ; for, if they are indulged with frequency, their 
natural violence may weaken the common charities ot 
the mind, and convert its very goodness and love of 
virtue into a mournful misanthropy, or virulent detes- 
tation of mankind. 

Let not the man, whose exalted mind, improved by 
study and observation, surveys with a discriminating 
eye the moral depravities and mental weaknesses of hu- 
man nature, submit to treat his envious inferiors with 
inveterate anger, and undistinguishing revenge. Their 



172 OF THE MOTIVES 

envy as a tribute of approbation to his greatness. Let 
him look with the gentle eye of pity upon those who 
err rather from the wicked suggestions of others, than 
from the malevolence of their own hearts: let him not 
confound the weak and innocent reptil e^ w ith the scor- 
pionjmd the viper; let him listen, without emotion, to 
the malignant barking and envious hissings that every 
where attend the footsteps of transcendent merit ; let 
him disregard, with philosophic dignity, the senseless 
clamors of those noisy adversaries who are blinded by 
prejudice, and deaf to the arguments of sense and rea- 
son: let him rather, by a mild and forbearing temper, 
endeavor to make some impression on their hearts ; and 
if he should find their bosoms susceptible, he may hope 
in time to convince them of their errors, and, without 
violence or compulsion, bring back their deluded un- 
derstandings to a sense of truth, and the practice of 
virtue ; but, if experience convince him that every en- 
deavor to reform them is fruitless and vain, let him — 

Neglect the grumblers of an envious age, 
Vapid in spleen, or brisk in frothy rage ; 
Critics, who, ere they understand, defame ; 
And seeming friends who only do not blame , 
And puppet prattlers, whose unconscious throat 
Transmits what the pert witling prompts by rote: 
Let hirn neglect this blind and babbling crowd, 
To enjoy the favor of the wise and good. 

Slander, however, by fixing her talons on the most 
virtu ouTcharacters, generally defeats heTown malice, 
and proclaims their merit. It may, indeed, tend to di- 
minish their inclination for general society, and to ren- 
der them, in some degree, apprehensive of the danger 
of even well deserved fame. "Durable fame," says 
Petrarch, " is only to be derived from the practice of 
virtue, and from such works as are worthy of descend- 
ing from generation to generation. As to praters, 
gowned gentlemen, that walk in their silks, glitter in 
their jewels, and are pointed at by the people, all their 
bravery and pomp, their show of knowledge, and their 
thundering speeches, last only with their lungs, and 
then vanish into thin smoke; for the acquisition of 
wealth, and the desires of ambition, are no witnesses 
of true desert. I think I shall have fame after my 
death ; and that is a fame from which no profit is de- 
rived; but, on the contrary, frequently injures, while 
alive, the person who is to enjoy it when dead. What 



TO SOLITUDE. 173 

procured the destruction of Cicero, Demosthenes, and 
Zeno, but foul and haggard envy of their fame ? What 
brought the chosen men of the great ship Argos to 
Colchis, but the fame of that king's riches ? For what 
else was signified by the Golden Fleece, but the riches 
seized by these marauders, destitute of true riches, 
and who were clad with fleeces not their own V Many, 
indeed, whose merits have cast a radiance around their 
characters, have hidden its splendors with the shades 
of retirement to avoid giving uneasiness to envy ; and, 
by being deprived of that warm and aspiring tribute of 
applause which they had gloriously and justly earned, 
have, in soma instances at least, indulged too keen a 
sense of the depravity of mankind. .Solon, after hav- 
ing in vain exhorted the Athenians to resist thetyranny 
of Pisistratus. and save the liberties of that country, on 
which he haa conferred such distinguished services, 
returned to his own house, and placing his weapons at 
the street door, exclaimed, as a last effort, " 1 have done 
alt in my power to suve my country and defend its 
lawsP and then retired from the tumults of public life, 
to weep in silence over the servility of the Athenians, 
and the fate of Athens. History affords^ many illustri- 
ous instances, both ancient and modern, of the like 
kind : for there never was a statesman, who possessed 
a great mind and manly feelings, that did not, even 
during the plentitude of his power, occasionally wish 
to escape from the incorrigible vices which prevail in 
courts, to the enjoyment of the more innocent plea- 
sures aud humble virtues which surround the cottage. 
Such exalted characters cannot observe, without the 
highest disgust, and keenest indignation, the virtues of 
the best, and the services of the bravest men of the 
nation, blasted by the envious breath of brainless place- 
men, or the insidious insinuations of female favorites, 
whose whole time is employed in caressing their mon- 
kies and paroquets, or in aspersing the merits of those 
who boldly seek their fortune by the open and manly 
road of true desert, and not by the deep, dark, and 
crooked paths of flattery and intrigue. * Can such a 
man behold the double dealing and deceitful artifices 
by which the excellency of princes is corrupted, their 
imaginations dazzled, their discernment blinded, and 
their minds led astray without feeling uncommon in- 
dignation ? * Certainly not. But however acutely his 
bosom may feel, or tongue express his sense of such 
prevailing practices, he must still be forced to see, 
15* 



174 OF THE MOTIVES 

with even a more contemptuous and painful sensation, 
that envious rage and jealous asperity, which burst from 
the cringing crowd of mean and abject courtiers, on 
hearing the monarch, in the grateful feelings of his 
heart, applaud the eminent and faithful services of 
some gallant officer. Dion was the principal states- 
man at the court of Dionysius, and the deliverer of 
Sicily. When the younger Dionysius succeeded to the 
throne of his father, Dion, in the first council that he 
held, spoke with so much propriety on the existing 
state of affairs, and on the measures which ought to 
be taken, that the surrounding courtiers appeared to be 
mere children in comparison. * By the freedom of his 
counsels he exposed, in a strong light, the slavish 
principles of those who, through a timorous disinge- 
nuity, advised such measures as they thought would 

E lease their prince, rather than such as might advance 
is interest. But what alarmed them most, were the 
steps he proposed to take with regard to the impending 
war with Carthage ; for he offered either to go in per- 
son to Carthage, and settle an honorable peace with 
the Carthagenians ; or, if war should be inevitable, to 
fit out and maintain fifty gallies at his own expense. 
Dionysius was pleased with the magnificence of his 
spirit^ but his courtiers felt that it made them appear 
little ; and agreeing that, at all events, Dion was to be 
crushed, they spared for that purpose no calumny that 
malice could suggest. They represented to the king 
that this favorite certainly meant to make himself mas- 
ter by sea, and by that means to obtain the kingdom 
for his sister's children. There was, moreover, another 
and obvious cause of their hatred to him, in the reserve 
of his manners, and the sobriety of his life. They led 
the young aud ill-educated king through every species 
of debaucheryyand were the shameless panders of his 
wrong directed passions, t Their enmity to Dion, who 
had no taste for luxurious enjoyments, was a thing of 
course ; and as he refused to partake with them in 
their vices, they resolved to strip him of his virtues ; to 
which they gave the rianfe of such vices as are sup- 
posed to resemble them. His gravity of manners they 
called pride; his freedom of speech, insolence; his de- 
clining to join in their licentiousness, contempt. * It is 
true, there was a natural haughtiness in his deportment 
and an asperity that was unsociable, and difficult of ac- 
cess ; so that it was not to be wondered at if he found 
no ready admission to the ears of a young king, alrea- v 



TO SOLITUDE. 17g 

dy spoiled by flattery. Willing to impute the irregula- 
rities of Dionysius to ignorance and bad education, 
Dion endeavored to engage him in a course of liberal 
studies, and to give him a taste for those sciences which 
have a tendency to moral improvement. But in this 
wise and virtuous resolution he was opposed by all the 
artifices of court intrigue, t 

Men, in proportion as their minds are dignified with 
noble sentiments, and their hearts susceptible of refined 
sensibility, feel a justifiable aversion to the society of 
such characters, and shrink from the scenes they fre- 
quent; but they should cautiously guard,, against the 
intrusions of that austerity and moroseness with which 
such a conduct is but too apt to inspire the most bene- 
volent minds. Disgusted by the vices and follies of 
the age, the mind becomes insensibly impressed with 
a hatred toward the species, and loses, by degrees, that 
mild and humane temper which is so indispensably ne- 
cessary to the enjoyment of social happiness. Even he 
who merely observes the weak: or vicious frailties of 
his fellow creatures with an intention to study philoso- 
phically the nature and disposition of man, cannot 
avoid remembering their defects with severity, and 
viewing the character he contemplates with contempt, 
especially if he happens to be the object of their arti- 
fices, and the dupe of their villanies. Contempt is close- 
ly allied with hatred ; and hatred of mankind will cor- 
rupt, in time, the fairest mind : it tinges, by degrees, 
every object with the bile of misanthropy ; perverts the 
judgment ; and at length looks indiscriminately with 
an evil eye on the good and bad, engenders suspicion, 
fear, jealousy, revenge, and all the black catalogue of 
unworthy and malignant passions : and when these 
dreadful enemies have extirpated every generous sen- 
timent from the breast, the unhappy victim abhors so- 
ciety, disclaims his species, sighs, like St. Hyacinth, for 
some distant and secluded island, and with savage bar- 
barity, defends the inviolability of its boundaries by 
the cruel repulsion, and, perhaps, the death of those 
unhappy mortals whom misfortune may drive, hapless 
and unpitied, to its inhospitable shores. 

But if misanthropy be capable of producing such 
direful effects on well disposed minds, how shocking 
must be the character whose disposition, naturally ran- 
corous, is heightened and inflamed by an habitual ha- 
tred and malignancy toward his fellow creatures! In 
Swisserland, I once beheld a monster of this descrip- 



176 OF TEE MOTIVES. 

tion ; I was compelled to visit him by the duties of my 
profession ; but 1 shudder while I recollect the enormi- 
ty of his character. His body was almost as deformed 
as his mind. Enmity was seated on his distorted brow. 
Scales of livid incrustation, the joint produce of his 
corrupted body and distempered mind, covered his 
face. His horrid figure made me fancy that I saw 
Medusa's serpents wreathing their baleful folds among 
the black and matted locks of his dishevelled hair; 
while his red and fiery eyes glared like malignant me- 
teors through the obscurity of his impending eye-brows. 
Mischief was his sole delight, his greatest luxury, and 
his highest joy. To sow discord among his neighbors, 
and to tear open the closing wounds of misery, was 
his only occupation.* His residence was the resort of 
the disorderly, the receptacle of the vicious, and the 
asylum of the guilty. Collecting around him the tur- 
bulent and discontented of every description, he be- 
came the patron of injustice, the protector of villany, 
the perpetrator of malice, the inventer of fraud, the 
propagator of calumny, and the zealous champion of 
cruelty and revenge; directing, w T ith malignant aim, 
the barbed shafts of his adherents equally against the 
comforts of private peace and the blessings of public 
tranquillity. The bent and inclination of his nature 
had been so aggravated and confirmed by the " multi- 
plying villanies of his life," that it was impossible for 
nim to refrain one moment from the practice of them, 
without feeling uneasiness and discontent; and he 
never appeared perfectly happy, but when new oppor- 
tunities occurred to glut his infernal soul with the 
spectacle of human miserfes. 

The Timon of Lucian was in some measure excusa- 
ble for his excessive hatred to mankind, by the unparal- 
lelled wrongs they had heaped upon him. The inexo- 
rable antipathy he entertained against the species had 
been provoked by injuries almost too great for the 
common fortitude of humanity to endure. His probity 
humanity, and charity to the poor, had been the ruin 
of him ; or rather his own folly, easiness of disposition, 
and want of judgment in his choice of friends. He 
never discovered .that he was giving away his all to 
wolves and ravens. Whilst these vultures were prey- 
ing on his liver, he thought them his best friends, and 
that they fed upon him out of pure love and affection. 
After they had gnawed him all round,* ate his bones 
bare, and whilst there was any marrow in them, suck- 



TO SOLITUDE. 177 

ed it carefully out, they left him cut down to the roots * 
and withered ; and so far from relieving him, or assist- 
ing him in their turns, would not so much as know or 
look upon him. This made him turn a common labor- 
er ; and, dressed in his skin garment, he tilled the earth 
for hire ; ashamed to show himself in the city, and 
venting his rage against the ingratitude of those who, 
enriched, as they had been by him now proudly pass- 
ed along without noticing him. But although such a 
character is not to be despised or neglected, no provo- 
cation, however great can justify the violent and exces- * 
sive invectives which he profanely bellowed forth from 
the bottom of Hymettus ; " this spot of earth shall be 
my only habitation while I live ; and when I am dead, 
my sepulchre. From this time forth, it is my fixed re- 
solution to have no commerce or connexion with man- 
kind ; but to despise them, and avoid it. I will pay no 
regard to acquaintance, friendship, pity or compassion. 
To pity the distressed, or to relieve the indigent, I 
shall consider as a weakness, nay, as a crime ; my life, 
like that of the beasts of the field, shall be spent in soli- 
tude; and Timon alone shall be Timon's friend.» I 
will treat all beside as enemies and betrayers. To con- 
verse with them were profanation ! to herd with them 
impiety. Accursed be the day that brings them to my 
sight ! I will look upon men, in short, as no more 
than so many statues of brass or stone ; will make no 
truce, have no connexion with them. My retreat shall 
be the boundary to separate us for ever. Relations, 
friends, and country, are empty names, respected by 
fools alone. Let Timon only be rich and despise all 
the world beside. Abhorring idle praise, and odious 
flattery, he shall be delighted with himself alone. 
Alone shall he sacrifice to the gods, feast alone, be 
his own neighbor, and his own companion. • I am de- 
termined to be alone for life ; and when I die, to place 
the crown upon my own head. The fairest name I 
would be distinguished by is that of a misanthrope. 
I would be known and marked out by my asperity of 
manners ; by moroseness, cruelty, anger, and inhu- 
manity. Were I to see a man perishing in the flames, 
and imploring me to extinguish them, I would throw 
pitch or oil into the fire to increase it; or, if the winter 
flood should overwhelm another, who, with out-stretch- 
ed hands should beg me to assist him, I would plunge 
him still deeper in the stream, that he might never rise 
again. Thus shall I be revenged of mankind. This 



178 OF THE MOTIVES 

is Timon's law, and this hath Timon ratified. T should 
be glad, however, that all might know how I abound 
in riches, because that 1 know will make them misera- 
ble." 

The moral to be drawn from this dialogue of the ce- 
lebrated Grecian philosopher, is the extreme danger to 
which the best and most benevolent characters may be 
exposed, by an indiscreet and unchecked indulgence of 
those painful feelings with which the baseness and in- 
gratitude of the world are apt to wound the heart. 
There are, however, those who, without having re- 
ceived ill treatment from the world, foster in their bo- 
soms a splenetic animosity against society, and secretly 
exult in the miseries and misfortunes of their fellow 
creatures. Indulging themselves in the indolent habits 
of vice and vanity, and feeling a mortification in being 
disappointed of those rewards which virtuous industry 
can alone bestow, they seek a gloomy solitude to hide 
them from those lights which equally discover the 
errors of vice and the rectitude of virtue. Unable to 
attain glory for themselves, and incapable of enduring 
the lustre of it in others, they creep into discontented 
retirement, from which they only emerge to envy the 
satisfaction which accompanies real merit, to calumni- 
ate the character to which it belongs ; and. like satan, 
on the view of paradise, to " see undelignted all de- 
light." 

There are, however, a class of a very different de- 
scription, who, unoppressed by moody melancholy, un- 
tinctured by petulance or spleen, free from resentment, 
and replete with every generous thought and manly 
sentiment, calmly and contentedly retire from society, 
to enjoy, uninterruptedly, a happy communion with 
those high and enlightened minds, who have adorned 
by their actions the page of history, enlarged by their 
talents the powers of the human mind, and increased 
by their virtues the happiness of mankind. 

Retirement, however solitary it may be, when enter- 
ed into with such a temper of mind, instead of creating 
or encouraging any hatred toward the species, raises our 
ideas of the possible dignity of human nature; disposes 
our hearts to feel, and "our hands to relieve, the misfor- 
tunes and necessities of our fellow creatures; calls to 
our minds what high capacious powers lie folded up in 
man ; and giving to every part of creation its finest 
forms, and richest colors, exhibits to our admiration 
its brightest glories and highest perfections, and in- 



TO SOLITUDE. 179 

duces us to transplant the charm which exists in our 
own bosoms into the bosoms of others. 

* The spacious west, 

And all the teeming regions of the south, 

Hold not a quarry /"to the curious flight 

Of knowledge, half so tempting, or so fair, 

As man to man : nor only where the smiles 

Of love invite ; nor only where the applause 

Of cordial honor turns the attentive eye 

On virtue's graceful deeds ; for since the course 

Of things external acts in different ways 

On human apprehension, as the hand 

Of nature tempered to a different frame 

Peculiar minds, so haply where the powers 

Of fancy neither lessen nor enlarge 

The images of things, but paint, in all 

Their genuine hues, the features which they wear 

In nature, there opinions will be true, 

And action right 

A rational solitude, while it corrects the passions, im- 
proves the benevolent dispositions of the heart, increases 
the energies of the mind, and draws forth its latent 
powers. The Athenian orator, Callistratus, was to 
plead in the cause which the city of Oropus had de- 
pending ; and the expectation of the public was greatly 
raised, both by the powers of the orator, whicli were 
then in the highest repute, and the importance of the 
trial. Demosthenes, hearing the governors and tutors 
agree among themselves to attend the trial, with much 
importunity prevailed on his master to take him to hear 
the pleaders. The master having some acquaintance 
with the officer who opened the court, got his young 
pupil a seat where he could hear the orators without 
bein^ seen. Callistratus had great success, and his 
abilities were extremely admired. * Demosthenes was 
fired with the spirit of emulation. When he saw with , 
what distinction the orator was conducted home, and 
complimented by the people, he was struck still more 
with the power of that commanding eloquence which 
would carry all before it. From this time, therefore, 
he bade adieu to the other studies and exercises in 
which boys are engaged, and applied himself with great 
assiduity to declaiming, m hope of being one day num- 
bered among the orators. Satyrus, the player who was 
an acquaintance of his, and to whom he lamented, 
after having been for some time called to the bar, "that 
though he had almost sacrificed his health to his stu- 
dies, he could gain no favor with the people," promised 



ISO OF THE MOTIVES 

to provide him with a remedy, if he would repeat some 
E speech in Euripides or Sophocles. When Demosthenes 
had finished his recitation, Satyrus pronounced the 
same speech ; and he did it wjth such propriety of ac- 
tion, and so much in character^that it appeared to the 
orator quite a different passage ; and Demosthenes now 
understanding how muchgrace and dignity of action 
adds to the best oration,*cjmfted the practice of compo- 
sition, and, building a subterraneous study repaired 
thither, for two or three months together, to form his 
action, and exercise his voice^and, by this means 
formed that strong, impassioned, and irresistible elo- * 
quence, which rendered him the glory of Athens, and 
the admiration of the world. Most of the exalted he- 
roes, both of Greece and Rome, who devoted their at- 
tention to arts and to arms, acquired their chief excel- 
lency in their respective pursuits v ^by retiring from 
public observation, and cultivating their talents in the 
silence of solitude.r St. Jerome, the most learned of 
all the Latin fathers, and son of the celebrated Euse- 
bius, retired from the persecution of religious fury into « 
an obscure and dreary desert in Syria, where he attain- 
ed that rich, animated, and sublime style of eloquence, 
which afterward so essentially contributed to support 
the rising church, and to enlighten while it dazzled the 
Christian world. The Druids, or ministers of religion 
among the ancient Gauls, Britons, and Germans, re- 
tired,\in the intervals of their sacred functions, into 
awful forests and consecrated groves, where they pass- 
ed their time in useful study and pious prayers ; and 
while they acquired a complete knowledge of astrolo- 
gy, geometry, natural philosophy, politics, geography, 
morals, and religion, rendered themselves nappy and 
revered, and produced, by the wise instruction they 
were capable of affording to others, but particularly to 
youth, whose education they superintended, a bright 
succession of priests, legislators, counsellors, judges, 
physicians, philosophers, and tutors, to the respective 
nations in which they resided. 

The modern Julian, the justly celebrated Frederic, 
king of Prussia, derives the highest advantages from 
his disguised retirement at Sans Souci, where he con- 
trives the means of hurling inevitable destruction 
against the enemies of his country; listens to and relieves 
with all the anxiety of a tender parent, the complaints 
and injuries of his meanest subjects ; and recreates his 
excursive mind, by revising and correcting his immor- 



, TO SOLITUDE. 181 

tal works for the admiration of posterity. Philosophy, 
poetry, and politics, are the successive objects of his 
attention ; and while he extends his views, and 
strengthens his understanding, by the study of ancient 
wisdom, he meliorateshis heart by the delightful offer- ^ 
ings of the muses, airtf increases the public strength by 
the wise and economical management of his resources.** 
An awful silence, interrupted only by gentle airs with 
which it is refreshed, pervades this delightful retreat. 
It was during the twilight of an autumnal evening that 
I visited this solemn scene. As^I approached the 
apartment of this philosophic hero, I discovered him 
sitting, " nobly pensive," near a small table, from which 
shone the feeble rays of a common taper. ' No jealous 
sentinels, or ceremonious chamberlain, impeded my 
progress by scrutinizing inquiries of suspicion and 
mistrust ; and I walked free and unchecked, except by 
respect and veneration, through the humble unostenta- 
tious retreat of this extraordinary man. All charac- 
ters, however high and illustrious they may be, who 
wish to attain a comprehensive view of things, and to 
shine in the highest spheres of virtue, must learn the 
rudiments f of glory under the discipline of occasional 
retirement. 

Solitude is frequently sought from an inclination to 
extend the knowledge of our talents and characters to 
those with whom we have no opportunity of being im- 
mediately acquainted ; by preparing with greater care, 
and closer application, for the inspection of our con- 
temporaries, works worthy of the fame we are so anx- 
ious to acquire : but it seldom happens, alas ! that those 
whose labors are most pregnant with instruction and 
delight, have received, from the age or country in 
which they lived, or even from the companions with 
whom they associated, the tribute of kindness or ap- 
plause that is justly due to their merits. The work 
which is stigmatized and traduced by the envy, igno- 
rance, or local prejudices of a country, for whose de- 
light and instruction it was particularly intended, fre- 
quently receives from the generous suffrages of impar- 
tial and unprejudiced strangers, the highest tribute of 
applause. Even those pretended friends, under whose 
auspices it was at first undertaken, upon whose advice 
it proceeded, and upon whose judgment it was at 
length published, no sooner hear its praises resounded 
from distant quarters, than they permit the poisoned 
shafts of calumny to fly unaverted around the unsus- 
16 



182 OF THE MOTIVES 

pecting author, and warrant, by their silence, or assist^ 
fcy their sneers, every insidious insinuation against his 
motives or his principles. This species of malevolence 
has been feelingly painted by the celebrated Petrarch,, 
" No sooner had my fame," says he, " risen above the 
level of that which my contemporaries had acquired, 
than every tongue babbled, and every pen was bran- 
dished against me : those who had before appeared to 
be my dearest friends, instantly became my deadliest 
enemies : the shafts of envy were industriously direct- 
ed against me from every quarter : the critics, to whom 
my poetry had before been much more familiar than 
their psalms or their prayers, seized, with malignant 
delight, every opportunity of traducing my morals ; 
and those with whom I had been most intimate, were 
the most eager to injure my character, and destroy my 
fame." The student, however, ought not to be dis- 
couraged by this instance of envy and ingratitude. 
He who, conscious of his merit, learns to depend only 
on himself for support, will forget the injustice of the 
world, and draw his comfort and satisfaction from 
more infallible sources : like the truly benevolent and 
great, he will confer his favors on the public without 
the expectation of a return j and look with perfect in- 
difference upon all the efforts his treacherous friends, 
or open enemies, are capable of using. He will, like 
Petrarch, appeal to posterity for his reward ; and the 
justice and generosity of future ages will preserve his 
fame to succeeding generations, heightened and adorn- 
ed in proportion as it has been contemporaneously mu- 
tilated and depressed. 

The genius of many noble minded authors, particu- 
larly in Germany, are obscured and blighted by the 
thick and baneful fogs with which ignorance and envy 
overwhelm their works. Unable to withstand the in- 
cessant opposition they meet with, the powers of the 
mind grow feeble and relaxed ; and many a fair design 
and virtuous pursuit is quitted in despair. How fre- 
quently does the desponding mind exclaim, "I feel my 
powers influenced by the affections of the heart. I am 
certainly incapable of doing to any individual an inten- 
tional injury, and I seek with anxiety every opportu- 
nity of doing good ; but, alas ! my motives are pervert- 
ed, my designs misrepresented, my endeavors counter- 
acted, my very person ridiculed, and my character 
defamed." There are, indeed, those whose courage 
and fortitude no opposition can damp, and no adversity 



TO SOLITUDE. 183 

subdue; whose firm and steady minds proceed with 
determined resolution to accomplish their designs in 
defiance of all resistance; and whose bright talents 
drive away the clouds of surrounding dulness, like fogs 
before the sun, Wieland, the happy Wieland, the 
adopted child of every muse, the favorite pupil of the 
graces, formed the powers of his extraordinary mind 
in a lonely and obscure retreat, the little village of 
Biberach, in the circle of Suabia, and thereby laid the 
foundation for that indisputable glory he has since at- 
tainedJNln solitude and silence he enriched his mind 
with all the stores that art and science could produce, 
and enabled himself to delight and instruct mankind, 
by adorning the sober mien of philosophy, and the lively 
smiles of wit, with the true spirit and irresistible 
charms of poetry. Retirement is the true parent of 
the great and good, and the kind nurse of nature's 
powers. It is to occasional retirement that politics 
owe the ablest statesmen, and philosophy the most ce- 
lebrated sages. Did Aristotle, the peripatetic chief, 
compose his profound systems in the tumultuous court 
of Philip, or were the sublime theories of his master 
conceived among the noisy feasts of the tyrant Diony- 
sius? No. |,The celebrated groves of the Academy, 
and the shades of Atarnyaf bear witness of the impor- 
tant advantages which, in the opinion of both Plato and 
Aristotle, learning may derive from a rational retire- 
ment. These great men, like all others who preceded 
or have followed them, found in the ease and quietude 
of retirement the best means of forming their minds 
and extending their discoveries. The celebrated Leib-, 
nitz, to whom the world is deeply indebted, passed a 
great part of every year at an humble, quiet, retired, 
and beautiful villa which he possessed in the vicinity 
of Hanover. * 

To this catalogue of causes, conducing to a love of 
solitude, or hatred of society, we may add religion and 
fanaticism. The benign genius of religion leads the 
mind to a love of retirement from motives the highest, 
the most noble, and most really interesting, that can 
possibly be conceived, and produces the most perfect 
state of human happiness, by instilling into the heart 
the most virtuous propensities, and inspiring the mind 
with its finest energies : but fanaticism must ever be 
unhappy : for it proceeds from a subversion of nature 
itself, is formed on a perversion of reason, and a viola- 
tion of truth ; it is the vice of low and little under- 



184 OF THE MOTIVES, &C. 

standings, is produced by an ignorance of human na- 
ture, a misapprehension of the Deity, and cannot be 
practised without renunciation of real virtue. The 
passion of retirement, which a sense of religion en- 
forces, rises in proportion as the heart is pure, and the 
mind correct; but the disposition to solitude, which fa- 
naticism creates, arises from a wild enthusiastic notion 
of inspiration, and increases in proportion as the heart 
is corrupt, and the mind deranged. Religion is the 
offspring of truth and love, and the parent of benevo- 
lence, hope, and joy : but the monster fanaticism is the 
child of discontent, and her followers are fear and sor- 
row. Religion is not confined to cells and closets, nor 
restrained to sullen retirement; these are the gloomy 
retreats of fanaticism, by which she endeavors to break 
those chains of benevolence and social affection that 
link the welfare of every individual with that of the 
whole. The greatest honor we can pay to the Author of 
our being, is such a cheerful behavior as discovers a 
mind satisfied with his dispensations. But this temper 
of mind is most likely to be attained by a rational re- 
tirement from the cares and pleasures of the world. 

The disposition to solitude, however, of whatever 
kind or complexion it may be, is greatly influenced by 
the temper and constitution of the body, as well as by 
the frame and turn of the mind. The action of those 
causes proceeds, perhaps, by slow and insensible de- 
grees, and varies in its form and manner in each indi- 
vidual ; but though gradual or multiform, it at length 
reaches its point, and confirms the subject of it in habits 
of rational retreat, or unnatural solitude. 

The motives which conduce to a love of solitude 
might, without doubt, be assigned to other causes ; but 
a discussion of all the refined operations to which the 
mind may be exposed, and its bent and inclination de- 
termined, by the two great powers of sensation and re- 
flection, would be more curious than useful. Relin- 
quishing all inquiry into the primary or remote cau es 
of human action, to those who are fond of the useless 
subtilties of metaphysics, and confining our researches 
to those final or immediate causes which produce this 
disposition to enjoy the benefits of rational retirement, 
or encounter the mischiefs of irrational solitude, we 
shall proceed to show the mischiefs which may result 
from the one, in order that they may be contrasted 
with the advantages which, in the first part, we have 
already shown may be derived from the other. 



DISADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE. 185 

CHAPTER III. 

The disadvantages of solitude. 

The retirement which is not the result of cool and 
deliberate reason, so far from improving the feelings of 
the heart, or strengthening the powers of the mind, 
generally renders men less able to discharge the duties 
and endure the burdens of life. The wisest and best 
formed system of retirement is, indeed, surrounded 
with a variety of dangers, which are not, without the 
greatest care and caution, easily avoided. But in every 
species of total solitude, the perils are not only innu- 
merable, but almost irresistible. It would, however, 
be erroneous to impute all the defects which may 
characterize such a recluse merely to the loneliness of 
his situation. There are original defects implanted by 
the hand of nature in every constitution, which no spe- 
cies of retirement and discipline can totally eradicate: 
there are certain vices, the seeds of which are so inhe- 
rent, that no care, however great, can totally destroy. 
The advantages or disadvantages arising from retire- 
ment, will always be proportionate to the degrees of 
virtue and vice which prevail in the character of the 
recluse. It is certain that an occasional retreat from 
the business of the w r orld will greatly improve the vir- 
tues, and increase the happiness, of him on whom 
nature has bestowed a sound understanding and a sen- 
sible heart ; but when the heart is corrupt, the under- 
standing weak, the imagination flighty, and the dispo- 
sition depraved, solitude only tends to increase the evil 
and to render the character more rank and vicious ; 
for whatever be the culture, the produce will unavoid- 
ably partake of the quality of the seeds and the nature 
of the soil ; and solitude, by allowing a weak and wick- 
ed mind leisure to brood over its own suggestions, re- 
creates and rears the mischief it was intended to pre- 
vent. 

" . . . Where solitude, sad nurse of care, 
To sickly musing gives the pensive mind, 
There madness enters : and the dim-eyed fiend, 
Lorn melancholy, night and day provokes 
Her own eternal wound. The sun grows pale j 
A mournful visionary light o'erspreads 
The cheerful face, of nature ; earth becomes 
A dreary desert : and the heavens frown above. 
The various shapes of cursed illusion rise j 

16* 



188 THE DISADVANTAGES 

Whate'erthe wretched fear, creating fear 
Forms out of nothing : and with monsters teems 
Unknown in hell. The postrate soul beneath 
A load of huge imagination heaves : 
And all the horrors ^hat the guilty feel, 
With anxious flutterings wake the guilty breast. 
From other cares absolved, the busy mind 
Finds in itself a theme to pore upon ; 
And finds it miserable, or makes it so." 

To enable the mind, however, to form an accurate 
judgment of the probable consequences of solitude, it 
is, perhaps, necessary to. have seen instances both of 
its advantageous and detrimental effects. The conse- 
quences vary with the subject on which it operates; 
and the same species of solitude which to one charac- 
ter would be injurious, will prove to another of the 
highest benefit and advantage. The same person, in- 
deed, may at different periods, as his disposition changes, 
experience, under similar circumstances of retirement, 
very different effects. Certain, however, it is, that an 
occasional retreat from the tumultuous intercourses 
of society, or a judicious and well arranged retirement, 
cannot be prejudicial. To have pointed out the train 
of virtues it is capable of producing, and to have been 
silent upon the black catalogue of vices that may re- 
sult from extreme seclusion, would have been the more 
pleasing task ; but I have undertaken to draw the 
character of solitude impartially, and must therefore 
point out its possible defects. 

Man in a sate of solitary indolence and inactivity, 
sinks by degrees like stagnant water into impurity 
and corruption. The body ^suffers with the mind's de- 
cay. It is more fatal than excess of action. It is a 
malady that renders every hope of recovery vain and 
visionary. To sink from action into rest, is only indulg- 
ing the common course of nature ; but to rise from long 
continued indolence to voluntary activity, is extreme- 
ly difficult, and almost impracticable. A celebrated 
poet has finely described this class of unhappy beings 
in the following lines : 

" Then look'd, and saw a lazy lolling sort, 
Unseen at church, at senate, or at court. 
Of ever listless loiterers, that attend 
So cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 
Thee, too, my Paridel ! she mark'd thee there, 
Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair, 
And heard the everlasting yawn confess 
The pains and penalties of "idleness, »» 



OF SOLITUDE. 187 

To preserve the proper strength, both of the body 
and the mind, labor must be regularly and seasona- 
bly mingled with rest. Each of them require their 
suited exercise and relaxations. Philosophers, who 
aim at the attainment of every superior excellency, do 
not indulge themselves in ease, and securely and indo- 
lently wait for the cruelties of fortune to attack them 
in their retirement ; but, for fear she should surprise 
them in the state of inexperienced and raw soldiers, 
undisciplined for the battle they sally out to meet her, 
and put themselves into regular training, and even 
upon the proof of hardships. Those only who observe 
a proper interchange of exercise and rest, can expect 
to enjoy health of T>ody, or cheerfulness of mind. It 
is the only means by which the economy of the hu- 
man frame can be regularly preserved. 

He, therefore, who does not possess sufficient activi- 
ty to keep the body and mind in proper exercise ; he 
who is unacquainted with the art of varying his amuse- 
ments, of changing the subjects of his contemplation, 
and 01 finding within himself all the materials of en- 
joyment, will soon feel solitude not only burdensome, 
but insupportable. To such a character, solitude will 
not only be disagreeable, but dangerous ; for the mo- 
ment the temporary passion which draws him from 
society has subsided, he will sink into languor and in- 
difference; and this temper is always unfavorable to 
moral sentiment. The world, perhaps, with all its dis- 
advantages, is less likely to be injurious to such a man, 
than the calm and silent shades of unenjoyed retire- 
ment. 

Solitude also, particularly when carried to an ex- 
treme, is apt to render the character of the recluse rigid, 
austere, and inflexible, and of course, unsuited to the 
enjoyments of society. The notions he contracts are 
as singular and abstracted as his situation : he adheres 
to them with inflexible pertinacity : his mind moves 
only in the accustomed track : he cherishes his precon- 
ceived errors and prejudices with fond attachment, and 
despises those whose sentiments are contrary to his 
own. A promiscuous intercourse with society has the 
effect of rendering the mind docile, and his judgment of 
men and things correct: for in the world every subject 
is closely examined, every question critically discussed ; 
and. while the spirit of controversy and opposition elicits 
truth, the mind is led into atrain of rational investigation, 
and its powers strengthened and enlarged; but the 



188 THE DISADVANTAGES 

mmd of the recluse being uninterruptedly confined to 
its own course of reasoning, and to the habit of view- 
ing objects on one side, it is unable to appreciate the 
respective weights which different arguments may de- 
serve, or to judge in doubtful cases, on which side, 
truth is most likely to be found. A commixture of 
different opinions, on any particular subject, provokes 
a free and liberal discussion of it, an advantage which 
the prepossession engendered by solitude uniformly 
prevents. 

Solitude, while it establishes a dangerous confidence 
in the powers and opinions of its votaries, not only 
fastens on the characters the errors and imperfections 
it has produced and fastened, but recommends them 
strongly to their esteem. How frequently do we ob- 
serve, even in persons of rank and fortune, who reside 
continually on their own estates, a haughty manner 
and arbitrary disposition, totally incompatible with that 
candid conduct, that open minded behavior, that conde- 
scending urbanity, that free spirit, which mark the 
character of the polite and liberal minded gentleman, 
and render him the veneration and delight of all 
around him ! " Obstinacy and pride," says Plato, " are 
the inevitable consequences of a solitary life;" and the 
frequency of the fact certainly justifies the observation. 
Retired, secluded characters, having no opportunity of 
encountering the opinions of others, or of listening to 
any other judgment than their own, establish a species 
of tyranny over their understandings, and check that 
free excursion of the intellect which the discovery of 
truth requires. They reject, with disdain, the close in- 
vestigations of logic, and repel all attempts to examine 
their arguments, and expose their fallacies. Their pre- 
conceived opinions, which they dignify with the appel- 
lation of settled truths, and mistake for indisputable 
axioms, havje infixed themselves so deeply in their 
minds that they cannot endure the idea of their being 
rooted out or removed: and they are fearful of submit- 
ting them to the test of controversy, only because they 
were originally received without due examination, 
and have been confirmed by the implicit consent and 
approbation of their inferiors and dependants. 

Solitude also, even the solitude which poets and phi- 
losophers have so feelingly described as blissful and 
beneficial, has frequently proved injurious to its delight- 
ed votaries. Men of letters are, in general, too inat- 
tentive to those easy and captivating manners which 



or SOLITUDE. 189 

give such high spirit to the address, and splendid deco- 
ration to the characters, of well bred men. They sel- 
dom qualify the awkwardness of scholastic habits by a 
free and intimate intercourse either with the world or 
with each other ; but being secluded from society, and 
engaged in abstracted pursuits, adopt a pedantic phra- 
seology, an unaccommodating address, formal notions, 
and a partial attachment to their recondite pursuits. 
The common topics of conversation, and usual enter- 
tainment of company, they treat with high, but unjus- 
tifiable disdain; and, blinded by fogs of pride, and ideal 
superiority, are rendered incapable of discerning their 
errors. 

The correction of this disposition in authors has been 
thought of so much importance to the interests of mo- 
rals, and to the manners of ttie rising generation, that 
scholars in general have been exhorted, in the highest 
strains of eloquence, by one of the most powerful 
preachers of Germany, from the pulpit of the politest 
city in the empire, to guard with unceasing vigilance 
against those defects which are so apt to mingle with 
the habits of the profession, and which tend to sully 
the brightness .of their characters. The orator invokes 
them to shake off that distant demeanor, that unso- 
cial reserve, that supercilious behavior and almost 
express contempt, from which few of them are 
free, and which most of them practise when in 
unlettered company ; and to treat their fellow citi- 
zens, however inferior they may be in erudition and 
scholastic knowledge, with affability and attention ; to 
listen to their conversation with politeness ; to regard 
their errors with lenity; to view their failings with 
compassion, and their defects with liberality ; to lead 
them into the paths of truth and science by mild per- 
suasion, to lure them to knowledge by gentle means, 
and, by reducing their conversation and subjects of dis- 
course to a level with the unlettered understandings of 
their auditors, to please the heart while they instruct the 
mind. 

Good sense and learning may esteem obtain , 

Humor ai.d wit a laugh, if rightly ta'en : 

Fair virtue admira'ion may impart; 

But 'tis good nature only wins the heart : 

It moulds the body to an easy grace, 

And brightens every feature of the face : 

It smooths th' unpolish'd tongue with eloquence, 

And adds persuasion to the finest sense. 



190 THE DISADVANTAGES 

Learning and good sense, indeed, to whatever de- 
gree they may be possessed, can only render the pos- 
sessor happy in proportion as he employs them to in- 
crease the happiness of others. To effect this, he must 
occasionally endure the jokes of dullness without petu- 
lance, and listen with complacency to the observations 
of ignorance, but, above all, he must carefully avoid 
all inclination to exhibit his own superiority, and to 
shine at the expense of others.. 

Learning and wisdom, indeed, however they may be 
confounded by arrogant and self-conceited scholars, 
are in no respects synonymous terms ; but, on the con- 
trary, are not unfrequently quite at variance with each 
other. The high admiration which scholars are too 
apt to entertain of the excellency of their own talents, 
and the vast importance they generally ascribe to their 
own characters and merit, instead of producing that 
sound judgment upon men and things which consti- 
tutes true wisdom, only engenders an effervescence in 
the imagination, the effect of which is in general, the 
most frothy folly. Many of those who thus pride 
themselves on the pursuits of literature, having nothing 
to boast of but an indefatigable attention to some idle 
and unprofitable study; a study which, perhaps only 
tends to contract the feelings of the heart, and impo- 
verish the powers of the mind. True wisdom and 
genuine virtue are the produce of those enlarged views 
which arise from a general and comprehensive know- 
ledge both of books and men: but scholars, who con- 
fine their attention entirely to books, and feel no in- 
terest or concern for the world, despise every object 
that does not lie within the range of their respective 
studies. By poring over obsolete works, they ac- 
quire sentiments quite foreign to the manners of the 
age in which we live ; form opinions as ridiculous as 
they are unfashionable; fabricate systems incompre- 
hensible to the rest of mankind ; and maintain argu- 
ments so offensive and absurd, that whenever they ven- 
ture to display their acquirements in society, they are, 
like the bird of night, hooted back with derision into 
their daily obscurity. Many studious characters are so 
puffed up by arrogance, presumption, self-conceit, and 
vanity, that they can scarcely speak upon any subject 
without hurting the feelings of their friends and giving 
cause of triumph to their enemies. The counsel and 
instruction they affect to give is so mixed with osten- 
tatious pedantry, that they destroy the very end they 



OF SOLITUDE. 191 

wish to promote : and, instead of acquiring honorable 
approbation, cover themselves with merited disgrace. 
Plato, the illustrious chief of the academic set of Athe- 
nian philosophers was so totally free from this vice of 
inferior minds, that it was impossible to discover in him 
by ordinary and casual conversation, that sublime ima- 

fination and almost divine intellect, which rendered 
im the idol of his age, and the admiration of suc- 
ceeding generations. On his return from Syracuse, to 
which place he had been invited by Dionysius the 
younger, he visited Olympia, to be present at the per- 
formance of the Olympic games ; and he was placed 
on the seat appropriated to foreigners of the highest 
distinction, but to whom he was not personally known. 
Some of them were so pleased with the ease, polite- 
ness, wisdom, and vivacity of his conversation, that 
they accompanied him to Athens, and, on their arrival 
in that city, requested him to procure them an inter- 
view with Plato. But how pleasing and satisfactory 
was their surprise, when, on his replying with a smile, 
" / am the person whom you wish to see" they disco- 
vered that this affable and entertaining companion, with 
whom they had travelled without discerning his excel- 
lency, was the most learned and profound philosopher 
at that time existing in the world ! The studious and 
retired life of this extraordinary character had not de- 
creased his urbanity and politenesss, nor deprived him 
of the exercise of those easy and seducing manners 
which so entirely engage the affection and win the 
heart. He wisely prevented seclusion from robbing 
him of that amenity and unassuming ease so necessary 
to the enjoyment of society. Like those two eminent 
philosophers of the present day, the wise Mendelsohm, 
and the amiable Garve, he derived from solitude all 
the benefits it is capable of conferring, without suffer- 
ing any of those injuries which it too frequently inflicts 
on less powerful minds. 

Culpable, however, as studious characters in general 
are, by neglecting to cultivate that social address, and 
to observe that civility of manners, and urbane atten- 
tion, which an intercourse not only with the world, but 
even with private society, so indispensably requires, 
certain it is, that men of fashion expect from them a 
more refined good breeding, and a nicer attention to 
the forms of politeness, than all their endeavors can 
produce. The fashionable world, indeed, are blamable 
for their constant attempts to deride the awkwardness 



192 THE DISADVANTAGES 

of their more erudite and abstracted companions. The 
severity with which they treat the defective manners 
of a scholastic visiter, is a violation of the first rules of 
true politeness, which consists entirely of a happy com- 
bination of good sense and good nature, both of which 
dictate a different conduct, and induce rather a friendly 
concealment than a triumphant exposure of such ve- 
nial failings. The inexperienced scholastic is entitled 
to indulgence, for he cannot be expected nicely to prac- 
tice customs which he has had no opportunity to learn. 
To the eye of polished life, his austerity, his reserve, his 
mistakes, his indecorums, may, perhaps, appear ridicu- 
lous; but to expose him to derision on this subject is 
destructive to the general interests of society, inas- 
much as it tends to repress and damp endeavors to 
please. How is it possible that men who devote the 
greater portion of their time to the solitary and abstract- 
ed pursuits of literature, can possess that promptitude 
of thought, that variety of expression, those easy man- 
ners, and that varying humor, which prevail so agree- 
ably in mixed society^ and which can only be acquired 
by a constant intercckirse with the world ? It was not 
only cruel, but unjust, of the Swedish courtiers to di- 
vert themselves with the confusion and embarrass- 
ments into which Miebom and Naude, two celebrated 
writeis on the music and dances of the ancients were 
thrown, when the celebrated Christina desired the one 
to sing and the other to dance in public, for the enter- 
tainment of the court. Still less excusable were those 
imps of fashion in France, who exposed the celebrated 
mathematician, Nicole, to the derision of a large com- 
pany, for the misapplication of a word. A fashionable 
female at Paris, having' heard that Nicole, who had 
then lately written a profound and highly approved 
treatise on the doctrine of curves, was greatly celebrated 
in all the circles of science, and affecting to bethought 
the patroness and intimate of all persons of distinguish- 
ed merit, sent him such an invitation to one of her par- 
ties that he could not refuse to accept of. The abstract- 
ed geometrician, who had never before been present 
at an assembly of the kind, received the civilities of 
his fair hostess, and her illustrious friends, with all the 
awkwardness and confusion which such a scene must 
naturally create. After passing an uncomfortable even- 
ing, in answering the observations of those who ad- 
dressed him, in which he experienced much greater 
difficulties than he would have found in solving the 



OP SOLITUDE. 193 

most intricate problem, he prepared to take his leave, 
and pouring out a profusion of declarations to the lady 
of the house, of the grateful sense he entertained of 
the high honor she had conferred on him, by her gene- 
rous invitation, distinguishing attention, polite regard, 
and extraordinary civility, rose to the climax of his 
compliments, by assuring her, that the lovely little eyes 
of his fair entertainer had made an impression which 
never could he erased from his breast, and immediately 
departed. But a kind friend, who was accompanying 
him home, whispering in his ear, as they were passing 
the stairs, that he had paid the lady a very ill compli- 
ment, by telling her that her eyes were little, for that 
little eyes were universally understood by the whole 
sex to be a great defect. Nicole, mortified to an ex- 
treme by the mistake he had thus innocently made, 
and resolving to apologize to the lady whom he con- 
ceived he had offended, returned abruptly to the com- 
pany, and entreated her with great humility, to pardon 
the error into which his confusion had betrayed him 
of imputing any thing like littleness to so high, so ele- 
gant, so distinguished a character, declaring that he 
had never beheld such fine large eyes, such fine large 
lips, such fine large hands, or so fine and large a per- 
son altogether, in the whole course of his life! 

The professional pursuits of students confine them, 
during the early periods of life, to retirement and se- 
clusion, and prevent them in general, from attempting 
to mix in the society of the world until age, or profes- 
sional habits, have rendered them unfit for this scene. 
Discouraged by the neglect they experience, and by 
the ridicule to which tfiey are exposed, on their first 
introduction into active life, from persevering in their 
attempts to shake off the uncouth manner they have ac- 
quired, they immediately shrink from the displeasing 
prospect into their original obscurity, in despair of 
ever attaining the talents necessary to render them 
agreeable to the elegant and gay. There are, indeed, 
some men, who, on attempting to change the calm 
and rational enjoyments of a retired and studious life, 
for the more lively and loquacious pleasures of public 
society, perceive the manners and maxims of the world 
so repugnant to their principles, and so disagreeable to 
their taste and inclinations, that they instantly abandon 
society, and, renouncing all future attempts to enter into 
its vortex, calmly and contentedly return to their be- 
loved retreat under an idea that it is wrong for persons 
17 



194 THE DISADVANTAGES 

of such different dispositions to intermix or invade the 
provinces of each other. There are also many studi- 
ous characters who avoid society, under an idea that 
they have transferred their whole minds into their own 
compositions ; that they have exhausted all that they 
possessed of either instruction or entertainments 
and that they would, like empty bottles, or squeezed 
oranges, be thrown aside with disregard, and, perhaps, 
with contempt, as persons no longer capable of con- 
tributing to compauionable pleasures. But there are 
others of sounder sense and better judgment, who 
gladly relinquish the noisy assemblies of public life, 
and joyfully retire to the sweet and tranquil scenes of 
rural solitude, because they seldom meet among the can- 
didates for public approbation, a single individual capa- 
ble of enjoying a just thought, or making a rational re- 
flection ; but, on the contrary, have to encounter a host 
of vain, frivolous pretenders to wit and learning, who 
herd together, like the anarchs of insurrection, to op- 
pose with noise and violence, the progress of truth and 
the exertions of reason. 

Sentiments like these too frequently banish from the 
circles of society characters of useful knowledge and 
of distinguished genius, and from whose endowments 
mankind might receive both instruction and delight. 
The loss, in such a case, to the individual is, perhaps, 
trifling ; his comforts may possibly be increased by his 
seclusion ; but the interests of truth and good sense 
are thereby considerably injured : for the mind of man, 
however powerful and informed it may be in itself, can- 
not employ its energies and acquisitions with the same 
advantage and effect, as when it is whetted by a colli- 
sion with other minds, and polished by the manners of 
the world. An acquaintance with the living charac- 
ters and manners of the world, teaches the mind to di- 
rect its powers to their proper and most useful points: 
exhibits the means and furnishes the instruments, by 
which the best exertions of virtue can attain her ends ; 
gives morals their brightest color, taste its highest re- 
finement, and truth its fairest objects. The wisest and 
best philosophers have acknowledged the obligations 
they were under to society for the knowledge they ac- 
quired in its extensive, though dangerous school, and 
have strongly recommended the study of mankind, 
by viewing all the various classes with a discriminating 
eye, as the best means of becoming acquainted with the 
beauties of virtue, and the deformities of vice, and } of 



OF SOLITUDE. 195 

course, as the best means of discovering the true road 
to earthly happiness ; for— 

Virtue, immortal virtue ! born to please, 
The ch Id of nature and the source of ease, 
Bids every bliss on human life attend ; 
To every rank a kind and faithful friend ; 
Inspirits nature 'midst the scenes of toil, 
Smooths languor's cheek, and bids fell want recoil : 
Shines from the mitre with unsullied rays, 
Glares on the crest, and gives the star to blaze ; 
Supports distinction, spreads ambition's wings, 
Forms saints of queens, and demi-gods of kings 5 
O'er grief, oppression, envy, scorn, prevails, 
And makes a cottage greater than Versailles. 

A free, open, unconstrained intercourse with man- 
kind, has also the advantage of reconciling us to the 
peculiarities of others, and of teaching us the impor- 
tant lesson how to accommodate our minds and man- 
ners to such principles, opinions, and dispositions, as 
may differ from our own. The learned and enlighten- 
ed cannot maintain an intercourse with the illiterate, 
without exercising an extraordinary degree of patience, 
conceding many points which appear unnatural, and 
forbearing to feel those little vexations so adherent to 
characters who have lived in retirement. The philoso- 
pher, in order to teach virtue to the world with any 
hope of success, must humor its vices to a certain de- 

free, and sometimes even adopt the follies he intends to 
estroy. To inculcate wisdom, it is necessary to follow 
the examples of Socrates and Wieland, and, separating 
from morals all that is harsh, repulsive, and anti-social, 
adopt only the kind and complacent tenets of the sci- 
ence. A German author of the present day, whom I glory 
to call both my countryman and my friend, observes, 
with the sagacity and discrimination of a critic, in his 
" Remarks on the Writings and Genius of Franklin," 
that the compositions of that great and extraordinary 
character are totally free from that pomp of style and 
parade of erudition, which so frequently disfigure the 
writings of other authors, and defeat their intended ef- 
fect. The pen of Franklin renders the most abstract 
principles easy and familiar. He conveys his instruc- 
tions in pleasing narrations, lively adventures, or hu- 
morous observations ; and while his manner wins upon 
the heart, by the friendly interest he appears to take in 
the concerns of mankind, his matter instils into the 
mind the soundest principles of morals and good policy. 



196 THE DISADVANTAGES 

He makes fancy the handmaid to reason in her re- 
searches into science, and penetrates the understanding 
through the medium of the affections. A secret charm 
pervades every part of his woiks. He rivets the atten- 
tion hy the strength of his observations, and relieves it 
by the variety of pleasing images with which he em- 
bellishes his subject. The perspicuity of his style, and 
the equally eas}^ and eloquent turn of his periods, 
give life and energy to his thoughts ; and, while the 
reader feels his heart bounding with delight, he finds 
his mind impregnated with instruction. These high 
advantages resulted entirely from his having studied 
the world, and "gained an accurate knowledge of man- 
kind. An author, indeed, may acquire an extraordinary 
fund of knowledge in solitude ; but it is in society 
alone that he can learn how to render it useful. Before 
lie can instruct the world, he must be enabled to view 
its fooleries and vices with calm inspection : to contem- 
plate them without anger, as the unavoidable conse- 
quences of human infirmity ; to treat them with ten- 
derness; and to avoid exasperating the feelings of 
those whose depravity he is attempting to correct. A mo- 
ral censor whose disposition is kind ana* benevolent, never 
suffers his superior virtue, knowledge, or talents, how- 
ever great they may be, to offend the feelings of others ; 
but, like Socrates, he will appear as if he were receiv- 
ing himself the instruction he is imparting. It is a fine 
observation of the celebrated Goethe, that kindness is 
the golden chain by which society is bound together: 
those who have had the happiness to converse with 
that extraordinary man, must have perceived the anx- 
iety with which he endeavors to temper the strength 
of his genius by the mildness and amenity of his con- 
versation. 

Men of letters, however awkward the habits of se- 
clusion mav have rendered them, would, I am con- 
vinced, be, in sreneral, if not always, treated with great 
politeness and' attention, if they wou-ld be careful to 
treat others with the common candor which humanity 
requires, and with that indulgence and affability which 
true liberality of sentiment will ever dictate ; but how 
few, alas ! are there who, by complacency and conde- 
scension, entitle themselves to the kindness and civili- 
ty of which they stand so much in need, and so arro- 
gantly expect ! How is it possible for those who are 
vigilantly anxious to depress the rising merit of others, 
ever to gain their friendship or esteem ? Friendship 
can only be acquired by an open, sincere, liberal, and 



OF SOLITUDE. 197 

manly conduct ; but he whose breast is filled with envy 
and jealousy, who cautiously examines, before he 
speaks, every sentiment and feeling, lest his tongue 
should betray the meanness of his heart, and the po- 
verty of his mind ; who seizes every light indiscretion, 
or trifling error, that many inadvertently escape from 
his companions ; who silently repines at every excel- 
lency, both moral and intellectual, which they may dis- 
cover; who, even when surrounded by those who wish 
him well, continues with guarded circumspection, and 
suspicious cautiqn, to weigh the motives of their ac- 
tions and conversation, as if he were surrounded by 
the bitterest enemies, must be utterly incapable of es- 
teeming others, or being esteemed himself; and to sup- 
pose that the generous flame of friendship, that holy 
fire which, under the deepest adversity, so comfortably 
warms and cheers the heart, can ever spring up from 
sucli cold materials, and ashy embers, would be extra- 
vagant and ridiculous. 

The delight which the heart experiences in pouring 
forth the fulness of its feelings, with honest confidence, 
into the bosom of a faithful friend, is permanent ana 
unbounded. The pleasures which spring from the ac- 
quisition of fame, whether resulting from the generous 
voice of an approving public, or extorted from the re- 
luctant tongues of envious rivals and contemporaries, 
will bear no comparison with those which thrill through 
the exulting bosom of him who can justly exclaim, 
"To the heart of this unhappy man I have given re- 
turning hopes, and made him look forward with confi- 
dence to the enjoyment of peace; to his wounded spirit 
I have imparted the balm of comfort and tranquillity; 
and from the bleeding bosom of my friend have driven 
despair 1" But to perform such offices as these, it is in- 
dispensably necessary that we should have recommend- 
ed ourselves to the confidence, and have gained the 
affections of those we intend to serve. This great and 
necessary property, however, those who live secluded 
lives very seldom possess: but, much as they may in 
general disdain to practise this high virtue, it is ne- 
cessary that they should know that it tends more to 
ennoble the sentiments of the mind, and to raise the 
feelins-s of the heart, than their most successful re- 
searches to discover something before unheard of in the 
regions of science, and which they pursue with as much 
avidity as if truth were liable to decay, unless sustain • 
ed by the aid of novelty. 

17* 



198 THE DISADVANTAGES 

It is justly and beautifully said by one of the apocry- 
phal writers, that a faithful friend is the medicine of 
life. A variety of occasions happen, when to pour 
forth the heart to one whom we love and trust, is the 
chief comfort, perhaps the only relief we can enjoy. 
Miserable is he who, shut up within the narrow inclo- 
sure of selfish interest, has no person to whom he can 
at all times, with full confidence, expand his soul. But 
he who can only feel an affection for such as listen con- 
tinually to the suggestions of vanity, as applaud indis- 
criminately the imaginary prodigies of his wit, or never 
contradict the egotism of his opinions, is totally unfit 
for friendship, and utterly unworthy of respect. It is 
men of learning and of retired habits, who are most 
likely to adopt this disengaging disposition. There are, 
I am sorry to say it, many men, distinguished in the 
paths of science, who affect to possess the most refined 
sensibility, and whose tongues are continually proclaim- 
ing the virtues of benevolence, but who, when they are 
called upon to practise those virtues in behalf of some 
distressed companion, turn a deaf ear to the appeal, 
form some poor excuse for not interfering, and, if press- 
ed to come forward with some promised assistance, 
deny to afford it, because the unhappy sufferer has ne- 
glected to approve of some extravagant, conjecture, or to 
adopt all the visionary notions and Utopian systems 
they may have framed. He w 7 ho neglects to perform 
the common charities of life, because his idle vanity 
may have been offended by the neglect or indifference 
of his companions, w>13 never find, and cannot become, 
a real friend. There is also an inferior order of fops 
in literature, (if any order can be inferior to that which 
I have last described,) who carry with them, wherever 
they go, a collection of their latest compositions, and 
by importunately reading them to every one they meet, 
and expecting an unreserved approbation of their merits, 
render themselves so unpleasantly troublesome on all 
occasions that, instead of conciliating the least regard 
or esteem, their very approach is dreaded as much as a 
pestilence or a famine. Every man of real genius will 
shun this false ambition of gratifying vanity by forced 
applause; because he will immediately perceive, that 
instead of gaining the hearts of his auditors, he only 
exposes himself to the ridicule, and loses all chance of 
their esteem. 

The disadvantages, however, which studious charac- 
ters have been described to experience from habits of 



OF SOLITUDE. 199 

solitary seclusion, and by neglecting the manners of 
society, must not be indiscriminately applied. It is the 
morose and surly pedant, who sits silently in his soli- 
tary study, and endeavors to enforce a character 
for genius in opposition to nature, who adopts the 
mean aud unworthy arts of jealousy, suspicion, and 
dishonest praise. Far different the calm, happy, and 
honorable life of him who, devoted to the cultivation 
of a strong understanding, and the improvement of a 
feeling heart, is enabled, by his application and genius, 
to direct the taste of the age by his liberality of spirit, 
to look on his equals without jealousy, and his superiors 
with admiration ; and, by his benevolence, to feel for 
the multitude he instructs, indulgence and affection; 
who, relying on the real greatness of his temper, makes 
no attempt to increase his importance by low raillery or 
unfounded satire ; whose firm temper never sinks into 
supine indolence, or grovelling melancholy ; who only 
considers his profession as the means of meliorating 
mankind; who perseveres in the cause of truth with 
cheerful rectitude, and virtuous dignity ; whose intel- 
lectual resources satisfactorily supply the absence of 
society ; whose capacious mind enables him to increase 
his stores of useful knowledge ; whose discriminating 
powers enable him to elucidate the subject he explores; 
who feels as great a delight in promoting the beneficial 
discoveries of others, as in executing his own ; and 
who regards his professional contemporaries, not as 
jealous rivals, but as generous friends, striving to emu- 
late each other in the noble pursuits of science, and in 
the laudable task of endeavoring to improve the morals 
of mankind. 

Characters of this description, equally venerable and 
happy, are numerous in Europe, both within and with- 
out the shades of academic bowers, and afford examples 
which, notwithstanding the tribe of errors and absur- 
dities solitude occasionally engenders, should induce 
men of worldly pleasures to repress the antipathies 
they are in general inclined to feel against persons of 
studious and retired lives. 



200 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

CHAPTER IV. 

The influence of solitude on the imagination. 

The powers of imagination are great ; and the effects 
produced by them, under certain circumstances, upon 
the minds of men of warm and sensible tempers, extra- 
ordinary and surprising. Multitudes have been induced 
by perturbed imaginations, to abandon the gay and 
cheerful haunts of men, and to seek, in dreary desola- 
tion, comfort and repose. To such extremes has this 
faculty, when distorted, hurried its unhappy subjects, 
that they have endured the severest mortification, de- 
nied themselves the common benefits of nature, ex- 
posed themselves to the keenest edge of winter's cold, 
and the most scorching rays of summer's heat, and in- 
dulged their distempered fancies in the wildest chime- 
ras. These dreadful effects appear, on a first view, to 
be owing to some supernatural cause, and they agitate 
our senses, and confuse the understanding, as pheno- 
mena beyond the comprehension of reason; but the 
wonder vanishes when the cause is coolly and careful- 
ly explored ; and the extravagances are traced up to 
their real source, and natural organization of man. 
The wild ideas of the hermit Anthony, who, in his 
gloomy retreat, fancied that Beelzebub appeared to him 
in the form of a beautiful female to torture his senses, 
and disturb his repose, originated in his natural cha- 
racter and disposition. His distempered fancy conjured 
up a fiend, which, in fact, existed in his unsubdued pas- 
sions and incontinent desires. 

From the enchanting cup 

Which fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst 
Of youth oft swallows a Circaean draught, 
That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye 
Of reason, till no longer he discerns, 
And only lives to err : then revel forth 
A furious band, that spurn him from the throne, 
And all is uproar. Hence the fevered heart 
Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms. 

Solitude excites and strengthens the powers of the 
imagination to an uncommon degree, and thereby en 
feebles the effect of the controlling powers of reason. 
The office of the latter faculty of the mind is, to exa- 
mine with nice discernment and scrupulous attention, to 
compare the several properties of thoughts arid things 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 201 

with each other, and to acquire, by cool and deliberate 
investigation, correct ideas of their combinations and 
effects. The exercise of their power suspends the ve- 
hemence of action, and abates the ardor of desire; but 
fancy performs her airy excursions upon light and va- 
grant wi^gs, and flying around her objects without ex- 
amination, embraces every pleasing image with in- 
creasing delight. Judgment separates and associates 
the ideas the mind has gained by sensation and reflec- 
tion, and by determining their agreement or disagree- 
ment, searches after truth through the medium of pro- 
bability ; but the imagination employs itself in raising 
unsubstantial images, and portraying the form of 
things unknown in nature, and foreign to truth. It has. 
indeed, like memory, the power of reviving in the mina 
the ideas which, after having been imprinted there, have 
disappeared : but it differs from that faculty by altering, 
enlarging, diversifying, and frequently distorting, the 
subjects of its power. 

It bodies forth the form of things unknown, 
And gives to airy nothings 
A local habitation and a name. 

But the irregular and wild desires which seize upon 
the mind through the avenues of an untamed fancy 
and disordered imagination, are not exclusively the 
produce of solitude. The choice of wisdom or folly is 
offered to us in all places, and under every circum- 
stance ; but the mind of man is unhappily prone to that 
which is least worthy of it. 1 shall therefore endeavor 
to show, by some general observations, in what in- 
stances solitude is most likely to create those flights of 
imagination which mislead the mind, and corrupt the 
heart. 

Imagination is said to be the simple apprehension of 
corporeal objects when they are absent ; which absence 
of the object it contemplates, distinguishes this faculty 
from sensation, and has occasioned some metaphy- 
sicians to call it recorded sensation. Upon the due re- 
gulation, and proper management, of this great and 
extraordinary power of the mind, depends, in a great 
measure, the happiness or misery of life. It ought to 
consist of a happy combination of those ideas we re- 
ceive through the organs of bodily sense, and those 
which we derive from 'the faculties of moral perception ; 
but it too frequently consists of a capricious and ill- 



202 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

lormed mixture of heterogeneous images, which 
though true in themselves, are false in the way they 
are applied. Thus a person, the circulation of whose 
blood in any particular member is suddenly stopped, 
imagines that needles are pricking the disordered part. 
The sensation in this case is real, but the conclusion 
from it is fallacious. So in every mental illusion, ima- 
gination, when she first begins to exercise her powers, 
seizes on some fact, of the real nature of which the 
mind has but an obscure idea, and, for want of tracing 
it through all its connexions and dependences, misleads 
reason into the darkest paths of error. The wild con- 
jectures, and extravagant opinions which have issued 
from this source are innumerable. The imagination 
receives every impulse with eagerness, while the pas- 
sions crowd around her splendid throne, obedient to 
her dictates. They act, indeed, reciprocally on each 
other. The imagination pours a concourse of contrary 
ideas into the mind, and easily disregards, or reconciles 
their incongruities. The voice of the calm inquirer, 
reason, is incapable of being heard amidst the tumult ; 
and the favorite image is animated and enlarged by the 
glowing fire of the passions. No power remains to 
control or regulate, much less to subdue, this mental 
ray, which inflames the whole soul, and exalts it into 
the fervor of enthusiasm, hurries it into the extrava- 
gance of superstition : or precipitates it into the furious 
frenzies of fanaticism. 

The powerful tumult reigns in every part, 
Pants in the breast, and swells the rising heart. 

Enthusiasm is that ecstacy of the mind, that lively 
transport of the soul, which is excited by the pursuit 
or contemplation of some great and noble object, the 
novelty of which awakens attention, the truth of which 
fixes the understanding, and the grandeur of which, by 
firing the fancy, engages the aid of every passion, and 
prompts the mind to the highest undertakings. A just 
and rightly formed enthusiasm is founded in reason, 
and supported by nature, and carries the mind above 
its ordinary level, into the unexplored regions of art 
and science. The rational enthusiast, indeed, rises to 
an elevation so far above the distinct view of vulgar 
eyes, that common understandings are apt to treat him 
either with blind admiration, or cool contempt, only be- 
cause they are incapable of comprehending his real 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 203 

character ; and while some bow to him as an extraor- 
dinary genius, others rail at him as an unhappy lunatic. 
The powers of enthusiasm, however, when founded 
upon proper principles, so strengthen and invigorate 
the faculties of the mind, as to enable it to resist danger 
undismayed, and to surmount difficulties that appear 
irresistible. Those, indeed, who have possessed them- 
selves of this power to any extraordinary degree, have 
been considered as inspired, and their great achieve- 
ments conceived to have been directed by councils, 
and sustained by energies of a divine or super-mundane 
nature. Certain it is, that we owe to the spirit of en- 
thusiasm whatever is great in art, sublime in science, 
or noble in the human character : and the elegant and 
philosophic Lord Shaftsbury, while he ridicules the 
absurdities of this wonderfully powerful and extensive 
quality, admits that it is impossible to forbear ascribing 
to it whatever is greatly performed by heroes, states- 
men, poets, orators, and even philosophers themselves : 
and who that is not contented to wallow in the mire 
of gross sensuality, would not quit the noisy scenes of 
tumultuous dissipation, and repair with joy and glad- 
ness to solitary shades, to the bower of tranquillity, and 
the fountain of peace, to majestic forests, and to ver- 
dant groves, to acquire this necessary ingredient to 
perfect excellence ? Who would not willingly pierce 
the pensive gloom, or dwell among the brighter glories 
of the golden age, to acquire by a warm and glowing, 
but correct and chaste contemplation of the beautiful 
and sublime works of nature, these ravishing sensa- 
tions, and gain this noble fervor of the imagination'? 
A proper study of the works of nature amidst the ro- 
mantic scenery of sylvan solitude, is certainly the most 
likely means of inspiring the mind with true enthu- 
siasm, and leading genius to her most exalted heights; 
but the attempt is dangerous. There are few men in 
whose minds airy notions do not sometimes tyrannize. 
" To indulge the power of fiction," says a celebrated 
writer, " and send imagination out upon the wing, is 
often the sport of those who delight too much in silent 
speculation. When we are alone, we are not always 
busy ; the labor of excogitation is too violent to last 
long; the ardor of inquiry will sometimes give way to 
idleness or satiety. He who has nothing external that 
can divert him, must find pleasure in his own thoughts, 
and must conceive himself what he is not ; for who is 
pleased with what he is ? He then expatiates in bound- 



204 INFLUENCE OP SOLITUDE 

less futurity, and culls from all imaginable conditions 
that which for the present moment he should most de- 
sire, amuses his desires with impossible enjoyments, 
and confers upon his pride unattainable dominion. 
The mind dances from scene to scene, unites all plea- 
sures in all combinations, riots in delights which nature 
and fortune, with all their bounty, cannot bestow. In 
time some particular train of ideas fixes the attention; 
all other intellectual gratifications are rejected ; the 
mind in weariness or leisure, recurs constantly to the 
favorite conception, and feasts on the luscious falsehood 
whenever she is offended with the bitterness of truth. 
By degrees the reign of fancy is confirmed ; she grows 
first imperious, and in time despotic : then fictions be- 
gin to operate as realities, false opinions fasten on the 
mind, and life passes in dreams of rapture or of anguish. 
This is one of the dangers of solitude. 

These observations lead us to consider the character 
of the fanatical visionary, who feels, like the happy en- 
thusiast, the same agitation of passion, and the same 
inflammation of mind ; but as the feelings of one are 
founded upon knowledge, truth, and nature, so the feel- 
ings of the other are the result of ignorance and error, 
and all the glittering meteors of his brain the effects of 
imposture and deception. Of this species of enthusiasm 
Mr. Locke gives the following description : " In all ages 
men in whom melancholy has mixed with devotion, or 
whose conceit of themselves has raised them into an 
opinion of a greater familiarity with God, and a nearer 
admittance to his favors, than is afforded to others, 
have often flattered themselves with a persuasion of an 
immediate intercourse with the Deity, and frequent 
communication with his divine spirit. Their minds 
being thus prepared, whatever groundless opinion 
comes to settle itself strongly uponlheir fancies, is an 
illumination from the Spirit of God, and whatever odd 
action they find in themselves a strong inclination to 
do, that impulse is concluded to be a call or direction 
from heaven, and must be obeyed ; it is a commission 
from above, and they cannot err in executing it. This 
species of enthusiasm, though arising from the conceit 
of a warm and overweening brain, works, when it once 
gets footing, more powerfully on the persuasions and 
actions of men than either reason, revelation, or both 
together ; men being forwardly obedient to all the im- 
pulses they receive from themselves." The fantastic 
images, indeed, which the wildness of his imagination 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 205 

creates, subdues his reason, and destroys the best affec- 
tions of his heart, while his passions take the part of 
their furious assailants, and render him the victim of 
his visionary conceptions. It is not, however from 
sources of fanatical devotion, or irrational solitude, that 
this vicious species of enthusiasm alone arises. The fol- 
lies of faquiers, the extravagance of orgaists, the ab- 
surdities of hermits, and the "mummery of monks, are 
not more enthusiastically injurious to the true interests 
of mankind, or more pregnant with all the calamitous 
effects of this baleful vice, than those unprincipled sys- 
tems of politics and morals which have been of late 
years obtruded on the world, and in which good sense 
is sacrificed, and true science disgraced. 

The growth of fanaticism, whether moral, political, 
religious, or scientific, is not confined exclusively to 
any age or country; the seeds of it have been but 
too plentifully sown in all the regions of the earth ; and 
it is almost equally baneful and injurious in whatever 
soil they spring. Every bold, turbulent, arid intriguing 
spirit, who has sufficient artifice to inflame the passions 
of the inconstant multitude, the moment he calls the 
demon of fanatacism to his aid, becomes troublesome, 
and frequently dangerous, to the government under 
which he lives. Even the affectation of this powerful 
but pernicious quality, is able to produce fermentations, 
highly detrimental to the peace of society. In the very 
metropolis of Great Britain, and among the enlightened 
inhabitants of that kingdom, Lord George Gordon, in 
the present age, was enabled, by assuming the hypocri- 
tical appearance of piety, and standing forth as a cham- 
pion of a religious sect, to convulse the nation, and en- 
danger its safety. In the twenty-first year of the reign 
of his Britanic Majesty, the present powerful and illus- 
trious King George III. an act of parliament was pass- 
ed to relieve the Roman Catholics residing in England 
from the penalties and disabilities which nad been im- 
posed on them at the revolution. An extension of the 
same relief to the Catholics of Scotland was also said 
to be intended by parliament. The report spread an 
immediate alarm throughout the country ; societies 
were formed for the defence of the Protestant faith ; 
committees appointed, books dispersed, and, in short, 
every method taken to inflame the zeal of the people. 
These attempts being totally neglected by government, 
and but feebly resisted by the more liberal minded in 
the country, produced all their effects. A furious spirit 



206 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

of bigotry and persecution soon showed itself, and 
broke out into the most outrageous acts of violence 
against the Papists at Edinburgh, Glasgow, and else- 
where ; but as government did not think it advisable to 
repress this spirit by force, the just and benevolent in- 
tentions of the legislature were laid aside. The suc- 
cessful resistance of the zealots in Scotland to any re- 
laxation of the penal laws against the Papists, seems 
to have given the first rise to the Protestant As- 
sociation in England; for about the same time bills 
were dispersed, and advertisements inserted in the 
newspapers, inviting those who wished well to the 
cause to unite under that title ; and Lord George Gor- 
don, who had been active at the head of the malcon- 
tents in Scotland, was chosen their President. The 
ferment was suffered to increase during a course of se 
veral years. His lordship was a member of the senate, 
and his extraordinary conduct in the house, and fre- 
quent interruption he gave to the business of parlia- 
ment, as well as the unaccountable manner in which 
he continually brought in and treated matters relative 
to religion and the danger of popery, and the caprice 
with which he divided the house upon questions where- 
in he stood nearly or entirely alone, were passed over, 
along with other singularities in his dress and manners, 
rather as subjects of pleasantry than of serious notice 
or reprehension. On Monday, the 29th of May, 1780, 
a meeting was held at Coachmaker's Hall, pursuant to 
a public advertisement, in order to consider of the 
mode of presenting a petition to the House of Com- 
mons. Lord George Gordon took the chair ; and, after 
a long inflammatory harangue, in which he endeavor- 
ed to persuade his hearers of the rapid and alarming 
progress that popery was making in the kingdom, he 
proceeded to observe, that the only way to stop it, was 
going in a firm, manly, and resolute manner to the 
house and showing their representatives that they 
were determined to preserve their religious freedom 
with their lives ; that, for his part, he would run all 
hazards with the people ; and if the people were too 
lukewarm to run all hazards with him, when their con- 
science and their country called them forth, they might 
fet another president, for that he would tell them can- 
idly, he was not a lukewarm man himself; and that, 
if they meant to spend their time in mock debate, and 
idle opposition, they might get another leader This 
speech was received with the loudest applause, and his 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 207 

lordship then moved the following resolution : " That 
the whole body of the Protestant Association do attend 
in St. George's Fields, on Friday next, at ten o'clock 
in the morning, to accompany their president to the 
House of Commons at the delivery of the Protestant 
petition;" which was carried unanimously. His Lord- 
ship, then informed them, that if less than twenty 
thousand of his fellow citizens attended him on that 
day, he would not present their petition. Accordingly, 
on Friday, the 2d day of June, 1780, at ten in the fore- 
noon, several thousands assembled at the place appoint- 
ed, marshalling themselves in ranks, and waiting for 
their leader, who arrived about an hour afterward, 
and they all proceeded to the houses of parliament. 
Here they began to exercise the most arbitrary power 
over both lords and commons, by obliging almost all 
the members to put blue cockades on their hats, and 
call out " no popery !" Some they compelled to take 
oaths to vote for the repeal of this obnoxious act ; 
others they insulted in the most indecent and insolent 
manner. They took possession of all the avenues up 
to the very door of both houses of parliament, which 
they twice attempted to force open, and committed 
many outrages on the persons of the members. Nor 
were they dispersed, or the remaining members able to 
leave their seats, until a military force arrived. The 
houses were adjourned to the 19th of June. But so 
dreadful a spectacle of calamity and horror was never 
known in any age or country, as that which the me- 
tropolis of England exhibited on the evening and the 
day which succeeded this seditious congregation. 
These astonishing effects produced by the real or pre- 
tended fanaticism of a simple individual, sufficiently 
display the power of this dangerous quality, when art- 
fully employed to inflame the passions of the unthink- 
ing multitude. But it is worthy of observation, that 
while this incendiary sustained among his followers 
the character of a pious patriot, of a man without the 
smallest spot or blemish, of being, in short, the most 
virtuous guardian of the established religion of the 
country, he regularly indulged his holy fervors, and 
sanctified appearances, every evening, in the company 
of common prostitutes, or professed wantons. 

The fire of fanaticism is, indeed, so subtilely power- 
ful, that it is capable of inflaming the coldest mind. 
The mildest and the most rational dispositions have been 
occasionally injured by its heat. The rapidity of its 



208 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

progress certainly depends, in a great degree, on the 
nature of the materials on which it acts ; but, like every 
dangerous conflagration, its first appearances should be 
watched, and every means taken to extinguish its 
flames. The extinction is^ perhaps, most happily and 
readily effected by those counteractions which the com- 
mon occupations," and daily duties of life produce en 
the mind, when judiciously opposed to this flagrant 
evil. Of the advantages, at least, of this resource, a 
circumstance in the history of the late Dr. Fothergill 
affords a remarkable example. This celebrated physi- 
cian possessed the greatest tranquillity of mind, and 
had obtained so complete a dominion over his passions, 
that he declared to a friend, recently before his death, 
that he could not recollect a single instance, during 
the whole course of his life, in which they had been 
improperly disturbed. This temper, which perfectly 
suited to the character of the religion he professed, the 
tenets of which he strictly practised, he maintained on 
all occasions; nor was there any thing in his general 
conduct or manner that betrayed to his most familiar 
friends the least propensity toward enthusiasm; and 
yet, distant as the suspicion must be, under these cir- 
cumstances, that he should ever be under the influence 
of superstition, it is well known, that while he was a 
student at Edinburgh, where he was distinguished for 
the mildness of his manners and the regularity of his 
conduct, he one day, in an eccentric sally of fanaticism 
ran, almost entirely naked through the streets of that 
city, warning all its inhabitants of the impending wrath 
of heaven ; and exhorting them in the most solemn 
manner, to avert the approaching danger, by humbly 
imploring the mercy of the offended Deity ; but this re- 
ligious paroxysm was of short duration. He was at 
this time in habits of intimacy with the great charac- 
ters who then filled the professional chairs oi tne uni- 
versity, and ardently engaged in the pursuits of study ; 
and the exercises which his daily tasks required, to- 
gether with the company and conversation of these 
rational, well-informed, and thinking men, preserved 
his reason, and soon restored him to the full and free 
enjoyment of those faculties, from which both science 
and humanity afterward derived so many benefits. 

The conduct of St. Francis, commonly called the 
holy Francis of Assisi, was in some degree similar : 
excepting that the madness of this fanatic continued 
throughout his life, while the delirium of Fothergill 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 209 

lasted but a day. This saint was born at Assisi, in the 
province of Umbria, in the year 1182. His real name 
of baptism was John ; but, on account of the facility 
with which he acquired the French language, so neces- 
sary at that time in Italy, especially for the business for 
which he was intended, he was called Francis. He is 
said to have been born with the figure of a cross on his 
right shoulder, and to have dreamt that he was design- 
ed by heaven to promote the interests of that holy sign. 
His disposition was naturally mild, his comprehension 
quick, his feelings acute, his manners easy, his imagi- 
nation vivid, and his passions inordinately warm. A 
careless and unrestrained indulgence of the propensi- 
ties of youth had led him into a variety of vicious habits 
and libertine extravagances, until the solitude to which 
a fit of sickness confined him, brought him to a recol- 
lection, and forced him to reflect upon the dangerous 
tendency of his past misconduct. His mind started 
with horror at the dreadful scene his retrospection pre- 
sented to his view ; and he resolved to quit the compa- 
ny of his former associates, to reform the profligacy of 
his life, to restore his character, and to save, by peni- 
tence and prayer, his guilty soul. These serious reflec- 
tions wrought so powerfully on his dejected mind, that 
he fell into an extravagant kind of devotion, more re- 
sembling madness than religion. Fixing on a passage 
in St. Matthew, in which our Saviour desires his apos- 
tles to provide neither gold nor silver, nor brass in their 
purses ; nor scrip for their journey ; neither two coats, 
neither shoes, nor yet staves, he w r as led to consider a 
voluntary and absolute poverty as the essence of the 
gospel, and to prescribe this poverty as a sacred rule, 
both to himself and to the few who followed him. He 
accordingly wandered through the streets of Assisi, in 

farments that scarcely concealed his nakedness, in or- 
er, as he said, to inure himself to the taunts and ridi- 
cule of his former companions, whom he now called 
the children of sin, and followers of satari. The father 
of the young saint, supposing, from these extravagan- 
ces, that the sickness under which he had so long la- 
bored had disordered his intellects, prepared to provide 
him with some proper place of confinement, until time 
or medical regimen should restore him to his right 
senses; but the saint, having been informed of his fa- 
ther's friendly intention, declined his parental care, and 
Quitting his house, sought a sanctuary in the palace of 
tie bishop of Assisi. The diocesan immediately sent 
18* 



210 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

to the father of the fugitive, and, after hearing him 
upon the subject of his right to provide for the safety of 
his son, he turned calmly to the son and desired him to 
reply. The son immediately tore off the tattered gar- 
ments which he then wore, and casting them with 
scorn and indignation at the feet of his astonished pa- 
rent exclaimed, " there, take back all your property. 
You were, indeed, my earthly father ; but henceforth I 
disclaim you ; for I own no father but him who is in 
heaven. The bishop, either really or affectedly delight- 
ed with this unnatural rant of the young enthusiast, 
threw his own mantle over the saint, and exhorted him 
to persevere in his holy resolution, and to cherish with 
increasing ardor, the divine inspiration of his pious 
mind. The frantic youth, animated by the warm ap- 
probation of tne bishop proceeded in his religious 
course, and abandoning the city, retired into the deepest 
gloom of an adjacent forest, to indulge the fervors of 
that false enthusiasm which had overpowered his brain. 
In this retreat a second vision confirmed him in his 
holy office ; and being encouraged by pope Innocent 
III, and Honorius, he established, in the year 12 J9, the 
Order of Saint Francis. If this ridiculous enthusiast 
had corrected the extravagances of his overheated 
imagination, by a cool and temperate exercise of his 
reason, by studying, like the celebrated physician we 
have just mentioned, some liberal science, he might, 
with the talents he possessed, have become a really- 
useful member of society. But these wild shoots, if 
suffered to grow to any height, cannot afterward be 
easily eradicated: and even Fothergill, if he had lived 
like Francis, in an age of superstitious delusion, and had 
been encouraged to~believe the truth of his fanatic con- 
ceptions, his temporary frenzy might have continued 
through life ; and his character, instead of being re- 
vered as a promoter of an useful science, have been 
held up by an ignorant multitude to the contempt and 
ridi-cule of posterity. 

The vacancy of solitude, by leaving the mind to its 
own ideas, encourages to a great excess these wild and 
eccentric sallies of the imagination. He who has an 
opportunity to indulge, without interruption or restraint 
the delightful musings of an excursive fancy, will soon 
lose all relish for every other pleasure, and neglect 
every employment which tends to interrupt the gratifi- 
cation of such an enchanting though dangerous pro- 
pensity. During the quietude of a sequestered life, 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 211 

imagination usurps the throne of reason, and all the 
feeble faculties of the mind obey her dictates, until her 
voice becomes despotic. If the high powers be exer- 
cised on the agreeable appearances of nature, and the 
various entertainments, poetry, painting, music, or any 
of the elegant arts, are capable of affording, 

.... Then the inexpressive strain 
Diffuses its enchantment ; fancy dreams 
Of sacred fountains, and elysian groves, 
And vales of bliss ; the intellectual Power 
Bends from his awful throne a wandering ear, 
And smiles ; the passions, gently smoothed away, 
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 
Alone are waking. 

But if the mind, as in the solitude of monastic seclu- 
sion, fixes its attention on ascetic subjects, and fires 
the fancy with unnatural legends, the soul, instead of 
sinking to divine repose, feels a morbid melancholy 
and discontented torpor, which extinguishes all ra- 
tional reflection, and engenders the most fantastic 
visions. 

Men even of strong natural understandings, highly 
improved by education, have, in some instances, not 
been able to resist the fatal effects of intense applica- 
tion, and long continued solitude. The learned Mola- 
nus, having, during a course of many years, detached 
his mind from all objects of sense, neglected all season- 
able and salutary devotion, and giving an uncontrolled 
license to his imagination fancied, in the latter part of 
his life, that he was a barley corn; and although he 
received his friends with great courtesy and politeness, 
and conversed upon subjects both of science and devo- 
tion with great ease and ingenuity, he could never af- 
terward be persuaded to stir from home, lest, as he ex- 
pressed his apprehension, he should be picked up in the 
street, and swallowed by a fowl. 

The female mind is still more subject to these delu- 
sions of disordered fancy ; for, as their feelings are 
more exquisite, their passions warmer, and their ima- 
ginations more active than those of the other sex, soli- 
tude, when carried to excess, affects them in a much 
greater degree. Their bosoms are much more suscep- 
tible, to the injurious influence of seclusion, to the con- 
tagion of example, and to the dangers of illusion. 
This may, perhaps, in some degree, account for the si- 
milarity of disposition which prevails in cloisters, and 



212 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

other institutions which confine women entirely to the 
company of each other. The force of example and 
habit is, indeed, in such retreats, surprisingly powerful. 
A French medical writer, of great merit, and undoubt- 
ed veracity, relates, that in a convent of nuns, where 
the sisterhood was unusually numerous, one of those 
secluded fair ones was seized with a strange impulse 
to mew like a cat ; that several others of the nuns in a 
short time followed her example ; and that at length 
this unaccountable propensity became general through- 
out the convent ; the whole sisterhood joined, at stated 
periods, in the practice of mewing, and continued it 
for several hours. But of all the extraordinary fancies 
recorded of the sex, none can exceed that whicli Car- 
dan relates to have happened in one of the convents of 
Germany, during the fifteenth century. One of the 
nuns, who had long been secluded from the sight of 
man, was seized with the strange propensity to bite all 
her companions ; and extraordinary as it may seem, 
this disposition spread until the whole house was infect- 
ed with the same fury. The account, indeed, states, 
that this mania extended even beyond the walls of the 
convent, and that the disease was conveyed to such a 
degree from cloister to cloister, throughout Germany. 
Holland, and Italy, that the practice at length prevailed 
in every female convent in Europe. 

The instances of the pernicious influence of a total 
dereliction of society, may possibly appear to the un- 
derstandings of the present generation extravagant and 
incredible ; but they are certainly true ; and many 
others of a similar nature might be adduced from the 
most authentic histories of the times. The species, 
when prevented from enjoying a free intercourse ana 
rational society with each other, almost change their 
nature; and the mind, feeding continually on the me- 
lancholy musings of the imagination, in the cold and 
cheerless regions of solitude, engenders humors of the 
most eccentric cast. Excluded from those social com- 
munications which nature enjoins, with the means of 
gratifying the understanding, amusing the senses, or in- 
teresting the affections, fancy roves at large into unknown 
spheres, and endeavors to find in ideal forms entertain- 
ment and delight. Angelic visions, infernal phantoms, 
amazing prodigies, the delusions of alchemy, the fren- 
zies of philosophy, and the madness of metaphysics, 
fill the disordered brain. The intellect fastens upon 



ON THE IMAGINATION, 213 

some absurd idea, and fosters it with the fondest affec- 
tion, until its increasing magnitude subdues the re- 
maining powers of sense and reason. The slightest 
retrospect into the conduct of the solitary professors 
of every religious system, proves the lamentable dan- 
gers to which they expose their mental faculties, by ex- 
cluding themselves from the intercourse of rational so- 
ciety. From the prolific womb of solitude sprung all 
the mysterious ravings and senseless doctrines of the 
New Platonists. The same cause devoted the monks 
and anchorites of the Christian church to folly and fa- 
naticism. Fakirs, Bramins, and every other tribe of 
religious enthusiasts, originated from the same source. 
By abandoning thfc pleasures of society, and renouncing 
the feelings of nature, they sacrificed reason upon the 
altar of superstition, and supplied its place with ecsta- 
tic fancies, and melancholy musings. There is nothing 
more evident, than that our holy religion, in its origi- 
nal constitution, was set so far apart from all refined 
speculations, that it seemed in a manner diametrically 
opposite to them. The great founder of Christianity 
gave one simple rule of life to all men ; but his disci- 
ples, anxious to indulge the natural vanity of the hu- 
man mind, and misled, in some degree, by the false 
philosophy which at that period overspread the heathen 
world, introduced various doctrines of salvation, and 
new schemes of faith. Bigotry, a species of supersti- 
tion never known before, took place in men's affections, 
and armed them with new jealousies against each 
other: barbarous terms and idioms were every day in- 
vented ; monstrous definitions imposed, and hostilities, 
the fiercest imaginable, exercised on each other by the 
contending parties. Fanaticism, with all the train of 
visions, prophecies, dreams, charms, miracles, and ex- 
orcises, succeeded ; and spiritual feats, of the most ab- 
surd and ridiculous nature, were performed in monas- 
teries, or up and down, by their mendicant or itinerant 
priests and ghostly missionaries. Solitude impressed 
the principles upon which these extravagances were 
founded, with uncommon force on the imagination ; 
and the mind, working itself into holy fervors and in- 
spirations, give birth to new extravagances. The 
causes which operated on the minds of men to produce 
such ridiculous effects, acted with double force on the 
ardent temper, warm imagination, and excessive sensi- 
bility of the female world. That which was mere 
fantasy with the one sex, became frenzy with the 



214 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

other. Women, indeed, are, according to the opinion 
of Plato, the nurses of fanaticism; and their favorite 
theme is that which has been dignified by the appella- 
tion of a sublime passion for poetry : an ardent, refined 
love of heaven ; but which, in fact, is only the natural 
effects of the heart, swollen intumeseently by an un- 
reined, prolific, and too ardent imagination. Instances 
of this kind are discoverable in all the accounts that 
have been published of the holy fervors of these 
penitents, particularly in those of Catharine of Si- 
enna, of Joan of Cambrav, of Angelina of Folurny, of 
Matilda of Saxony, of Maria of the Incarnation, of 
Mary Magdalen of Pazzio, of Gertrude of Saxony, and 
many others. The celebrated Armelle, who was born 
in the year 1606, at Campenac, in the diocess of St. 
Malo, and who died at Vannes in the year 1671, possess- 
ed great personal beauty, a quick and lively mind, and 
an uncommon tenderness of heart. Her parents, who 
were honest and industrious villagers, placed her as a 
menial servant inthe house of a neighboring gentleman, 
with whom she lived for five and thirty years in the 
practice of the most exemplary piety and extraordinary 
virtue, at least, according to the accounts which he gave 
from time to time of her conduct. During the time 
she resided with this gentleman, his <rroom, finding the 
kitchen door fastened, had the curiosity to peep through 
the key-hole, where he discovered the pious maid, in a 
paroxysm of divine ecstacy, performing the humble 
office of spitting a capon. The agitation of this holy 
spirit so affected the mind of the astonished youth, 
that, it is said by the Ursuline sister who has written 
the life of this great luminary of French sanctity, un- 
der the title of The school for the love of God, he be- 
came immediately enamored with the beauties of reli- 
gion, and renouncing the pomps and vanities of the 
world, entered into a monastery, at the same time that 
his holy companion thought proper to withdraw from 
future observation into the convent of Vannes, where 
she devoted the remainder of her life, and died, as it is 
reported, in an excess of divine love. The youthful 
days of Armelle had been passed in almost total solitude: 
for h ?r occupation at the house in which she was placed 
by her parents, was confined entirely to the kitchen, and 
she had scarcely any other intercourse than with its fur- 
niture. It appears, however, from the history of her life, 
that she was from her childhood excessively fond ot 
reciting an ave or paternoster ; and while occupied in 



ON THE IMAGINATION. 215 

tending 1 the flocks, her original employment, amused 
herself in telling her rosary; " by which means," says 
the Ursuline sister, "she made, even in her pastoral 
state of simplicity and ignorance, such great advances 
in divine love that, the first moment she was allowed 
to pay her adoration to the crucifix the fervency of 
her pious passion burst forth with such ecstacy, that 
she eagerly snatched the holy object to her arms, and 
embraced it with a transport so warmly affectionate, 
that streams of tenderness rushed from her eyes." 

It is truly said by a celebrated English writer, to be 
"of the utmost importance to guard againt extremes 
of every kind in religion. We must beware lest by 
seeking to avoid one rock we split upon another. It 
has been long the subject of remark, that superstition 
and enthusiasm are two capital sources of delusion : 
superstition, on the one hand, attaching men with im- 
moderate zeal to the ritual and external points of reli- 
gion ; and enthusiasm, on the other, directing their 
whole attention to internal emotions and mystical com- 
munications with the spiritual world ; while neither 
the one nor the other had paid sufficient regard to the 
great moral duties of the Christain life. But running 
with intemperate eagerness from these two great 
abuses of religion, men have neglected to observe that 
there are extremes opposite to each of them, into which 
they are in hazard of precipitating themselves. Thus 
the horror of superstition has sometimes reached so 
far as to produce contempt for all external institutions ; 
as if it were possible for religion to subsist in the world 
without forms of worship, or public acknowledgment 
of God. It has also happened, that some, who, in the 
main are well affected to the cause of goodness, observ- 
ing that persons of a devout turn have at times been 
carried away by warm affections into unjustifiable ex- 
cesses, have thence hastily concluded that all devotion 
was akin to enthusiasm ; and separating religion totally 
from the heart and affections, have reduced it to a fri- 
gid observance of what they call the rules of virtue." 
These extremes are to be carefully avoided. True de- 
votion is rational and well founded; and consists in 
the lively exercise of that affection which we owe to 
the Supreme Being, comprehending several emotions 
of the heart, which all terminate in the same great 
object. 

These are among the evils which an irrational soli- 
tude is capable of producing upon an unrestrained and 



216 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

misdirected imagination ; but I do not mean to contend 
indiscriminately, that solitude is generally to be consi- 
dered as dangerous to the free indulgence of this de- 
lightful faculty of the mind. Solitude, well chosen, 
and rationally pursued, is so far from being either the 
open enemy, or the treacherous friend of a firm and 
nne imagination, that it ripens its earliest shoots, 
strengthens their growth, and contributes to the pro- 
duction of its richest and most valuable fruits. To him 
who has acquired the happy art of enjoying in solitude 
the charms of nature, and of indulging the powers of 
fancy without impairing the faculty^of reason 

, . . Whate'er adorns 
The princely dome, the column, and the arch, 
The breathing marble, and the sculptured gold, 
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 
His happy breast enjoys. For him the spring 
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem 
Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him the hand 
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch 
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. 
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings - y 
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze 
Flies o'er the meadow ; not a cloud imbibes 
The setting sun's effulgence ; not a strain 
From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partake 
Fresh pleasure only : for the attentive mind, 
By this harmonious action on her powers, 
Becomes herself harmonious. 



CHAPTER V. 

The effects of solitude on a melancholy mind* 

A disposition to enjoy the silence of sequestered soli- 
tude, and a glowing distaste of the noisy tumults of 
public life, are the earliest and most general symptoms 
of approaching melancholy. The heart, on which fe 
licity was used to sit enthroned, becomes senseless la 
the touch of pleasure ; the airy wing of high delight 
sinks prostrate to the earth on broken pinions: and 
care and anxiety, chagrin, and regret, load the mind 
with distempering ideas, and render it cheerless and 
forlorn. The dawning sun, and heaven lighted day, 
giye no pleasure to the sickened senses of the unhappy 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 217 

sufferer. His only pleasure is to "commune with his 
own griefs ;" and for this purpose he seeks some gloomy 
glen, 

" Where bitter boding melancholy reigns 

O'er heavy sighs and care disordered thoughts." 

But a mind thus disposed, however it may for a time 
console its sorrows, by retiring from the world, thereby 
becomes more weak and helpless. Solitude in such 
cases, increases the disorder, while it softens its effects. 
To eradicate the seeds of this dreadful malady, the 
imagination should be impressed with some new, con- 
trary, and more powerful bias than that which sways 
the mind, which can only be turned from its course of 
thought by shifting the object of its reflection, and giv- 
ing entrance to new desires. A melancholy mind 
therefore, should be weaned by degrees from its dispo- 
sition to solitude, should be agreeably interrupted in 
its musings, and be induced to relish the varying plea- 
sures of the world. But, above all, those scenes and 
subjects which have any connexion, however remotely, 
with the cause of the complaint, must be cautiously 
avoided. The seeds of this dreadful malady are, in 
general, very deeply planted in the constitution of the 
patient, however accidental the circumstances may be 
when relieved from its oppression, is, if left to itself, 
always in danger of relapsing into its former habit. 
This circumstance alone is sufficient to show how un- 
friendly solitude must be to the cure of this complaint. 
If, indeed, the patient be so far gone as to leave no hope 
of recovery ; if his desponding heart be incapable of 
any new impression; if his mind forgoes all custom of 
mirth; if he refuse to partake of any healthful exercise 
or agreeable recreation : and the soul sinks day after 
day into deeper dejection, and threatens nature with 
madness or with death, solitude is the only resource. 
When melancholy seizes, to a certain degree, the mind 
of an Englishman, it almost uniformly leads him to put 
a period to his existence ; while the worst effect it pro- 
duces on a Frenchman, is to induce him to turn Cur- 
thusian. Such dissimilar effects, proceeding from the 
operation of the same cause, in different persons, can 
only be accounted for from the greater opportunities 
which there is in France than in England to hide the 
sorrows of the mind from the inspection of the world. 
An English hypochondriac would, perhaps, seldom de- 



218 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE. 

stroy himself, if there were in England any monastic 
institution to which he could fly from the eye of pub- 
lic observation. 

The mind, in proportion as it loses its proper tone, 
and natural elasticity, decreases in its attachments to 
society, and wishes to recede from the world and its 
concerns. There is no disorder of the mind, among 
all the various causes by which it may be affected, that 
destroys its force and activity so entirely as melan- 
choly. It unties, as it were, all the relations, both phy- 
sical and moral, of which society, in its most perfect 
state, consists, and sets the soul free from all sense of 
obligation. The private link which unites the species 
is destroyed ; all inclination to the common intercourse 
of life is lost ; and the only remaining disposition is for 
solitude. It is for this reason that melancholy persons 
are continually advised to frequent the theatres, mas- 
querades, operas, balls, and other places of public diver- 
sion ; to amuse themselves at home with cards, dice, 
or other games ; or to infuse from the eyes of female 
beauty new life into their drooping souls. Certain it 
is, that great advantages may be derived by detaching 
the mind from those objects by which it is tortured 
and consumed ; but to run indiscriminately, and with 
injudicious eagerness, into the pursuit of pleasures, 
without any predisposition to enjoy them, may rather 
tend to augment than diminish the disease. 

The eye of melancholy views every object on its 
darkest and most unfavorable side, and apprehends 
disastrous consequences from every occurrence. These 
gloomy perceptions, which increase as the feelings be- 
come more indolent, and the constitution more morbid, 
bring on habitual uneasiness and chagrin upon the 
mind, and render every injury, however small and tri- 
fling it may be, irksome and insupportable. A settled 
dejection ensues; and the miserable patient avoids 
every scene in which his musings may be liable to in- 
terruption; the few enjoyments he is yet capable of 
feeling in any degree impeded ; or which may call 
upon him to makelhe slightest exertion ; and by with- 
drawing himself from society into solitude, neglects 
the exercises and recreations by which his disease 
might be relieved. Instead of endeavoring to enlight- 
en the dark gloom which involves his mind, and sub- 
dues his soul, by regarding with a favorable eye all 
that gives a true value and high relish to men of sound 
minds and lively dispositions, he fondly follows the 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 



219 



phantom which misleads him, and thereby sinks him- 
self more deeply into the moody fanes of irremediable 
melancholy : and if the bright rays of life and happi- 
ness penetrate by chance into the obscurity of his re- 
treat instead of feeling any satisfaction from the per- 
ception of cheerfulness and content, he quarrels with 
the possessor of them, and converts their enjoyments 
into subjects of grievance, in order to torment himself. 
Unfavorable, however, as a dreary and disconsolate 
solitude certainly is to the recovery of a mind labour- 
ing under this grievous affliction, it is far preferable to 
the society of licentious companions, and to wild scenes 
of inebriating dissipation. Worldly pleasures, and sen- 
sual gratifications of every description, when intempe- 
rately pursued, only drive a melancholy mind into a 
more abject state of dejection. It is from rational re- 
creation, and temperate pleasures alone, that an afflict- 
ed mind can receive amusement and delight. The only 
scenes by which the mudded current of his mind can 
be cleared, or his stagnated system of pleasure refresh- 
ed, must be calm, cheerful, and temperate, not gay. 
Melancholy is of a sedate and pensive character, and 
flies from whatever is hurrying and tumultuous. How 
frequently do men of contemplative dispositions con- 
ceive a distaste for the world, only because they have 
unthinkingly engaged so ardently in the pursuits of 
pleasure, or of business, that they have been prevented 
for a length of time, from collecting their scattered 
ideas, and indulging their natural habits of reflection ! 
But in striving to reclaim a melancholy mind, it is ne- 
cessary to attend to the feelings of the heart, as well as 
the peculiar temper of the mind. A gloomy, disturbed, 
unquiet mind, is highly irritated, and its disease 01 
course increased, by the company and conversation of 
those whose senseless bosoms are incapable of feeling 
the griefs it endures, or the complaints it utters. This, 
indeed, is another cause which drives melancholy per- 
sons from society into solitude ; for how few are there, 
whose tenderness leads them to sympathize with a 
brother in distress, or to contribute a kind aid to eradi- 
cate the thorns which rankle in his heart! Robust 
characters, in whose bosoms nature has planted the im- 
penetrable shield of unvarying health, as well as those 
whose minds are engrossed by the charms of uninterrupt- 
ed prosperity, can form no idea of the secret but severe 
agonies which shake the system of valetudinary men: 
nor feel any compassion for the tortures which accom- 



220 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

pany a wounded and afflicted spirit, until the convulsive 
frame proclaims the dreadful malady, or increasing 
melancholy sacrifices its victim on the altar of self-de- 
struction. The gay associates of the unfeeling world 
view a companion suffering under the worst of nature's 
evils, with cold indifference, or affected concern ; or, 
in the career of pleasure, overlook the miseries he feels 
until they hear that exhausted wo has induced him to 
brave the anger of the Almighty, and to rush from 
mortal misery, uncalled, into the awful presence of his 
Creator. Dreadful state ! The secrecy and silence, in- 
deed, with which persons of this description conceal 
the pangs that torture their minds, is among the most 
dangerous symptoms of the disease. It is not, indeed, 
easy to hide from the anxious and attentive eye of real 
friendship the feelings of the heart ; but to the careless 
and indifferent multitude of common acquaintances, 
the countenance may wear the appearance not only of 
composure, but even of gayety, while the soul is in- 
wardly suffering the keenest anguish of unutterable wo. 
The celebrated Carlini, a French actor of great merit, 
and in hi^h reputation with the public, for the life, 
whim, frolic, and vivacity with which he nightly en- 
tertained the Parisian audiences, applied to a physician 
to whom he was not personally known, for advice, and 
represented to him that he was subject to attacks of the 
deepest melancholy. The physician advised him to 
amuse his mind by scenes of pleasure, and particularly 
directed him to frequent the Italian Comedy; "for," 
continued he, " your distemper must be rooted, indeed, 
if the acting of the lively Carlini does not remove it." 
"Alas!" exclaimed the unhappy patient, "I am the 
very Carlini whom you recommend me to see; and 
while I am capable of filling Paris with mirth and 
laughter, I am myself the dejected victim of melancho- 
ly and chagrin." 

Painful as it may be to a person who is laboring un- 
der the oppression of melancholy, to associate with 
those who are incapable of sympathizing with his feel- 
ings, or who neglect to compassionate his sufferings, 
yet he should not fly from the presence of men into 
solitude; for solitude will unavoidably aggravate and 
augment his distress inasmuch as it tends to encourage 
that musing and soliloquy to which melancholy is in- 
variably prone. It is the most dangerous resource to 
which he can fly ; for, while it seems to promise the 
fairest hope of relief, it betrays the confidence reposed 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 221 

in it; and instead of shielding its votary from that con- 
flict which disturbs his repose, it renders him defence- 
less, and delivers him unarmed to his bitterest enemy. 

The boldest spirits and firmest nerves cannot with- 
stand the inroads of melancholy merely by their own 
strength. It damps the courage of the most enterpri- 
sing mind, and makes him who was before upon all occa- 
sions, fearless and unawed, shrink even from the pre- 
sence of his fellow creatures. Company of every de- 
scription becomes displeasing to him ; he dreads the 
idea of visiting ; and if he is induced to quit the domes- 
tic solitude into which he retires, it is only when the 
glorious, but to him offensive, light of heaven is con- 
cealed in congenial darkness ; and the shades of night 
hide him from the observation of man. An invitation 
to social entertainment alarms his mind ; the visit even 
of a friend becomes painful to his feelings ; and he de- 
tests every thing which lightens the gloom in which 
he wishes to live, or which tends to disturb his privacy, 
or remove him from his retreat. 

Rousseau, toward the latter part of his life, abandoned 
all intercourse with society under a notion, which was the 
effect of his-melancholy disposition, that the world had 
conceived an unconquerable antipathy against him: 
and that his former friends, particularly Hume, and 
some philosophers in France, not only had entered into 
confederacy to destroy his glory and repose, but to take 
away his life. On departing from England, he passed 
through Amiens, where he met with Gresset, who in- 
terrogated him about his misfortunes, and the contro- 
versies in which he had been engaged ; but Rousseau 
only answered, "You have got tlie art of making a 
parrot speak, but you are not yet possessed of the secret 
of giving language to a bear:" and when the magis- 
trates otthe city wished to confer on him some marks 
of their esteem, he refused all their offers, and consi- 
dered these flattering civilities like the insults which 
were lavished in the same form on the celebrated San- 
cho in the island of Barataria. To such extent, indeed, 
did his disordered imagination carry him, that he 
thought one part of the people looked upon him like 
La arillo de Tornies, who being fixed to the bottom of 
a tub, with only his head out" of water, was carried 
from one town to another to amuse the vulgar. His 
bad health, a strong and melancholy imagination, a 
too nice sensibility, a jealous disposition, joined with 
philosophic vanity, and his uncommon devotion to soli- 



222 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

tude, tended to prepossess him with those wrong and 
whimsical ideas. But it must be confessed that the op- 
position he met with from different ranks of persons, 
at several periods of his life, was extremely severe. 
He was driven at one time from France, in which he 
had before been distinguished by his writings, and 
highly honored. At another time he was chased from 
Geneva, the place of his nativity, and of his warmest 
affection. He was exiled from Berne with disgrace ; 
expelled, with some appearance of injustice, from 
Neufchatel; and even banished from his tranquil soli- 
tude on the borders of the lake of Bienne. His dispo- 
sition therefore to avoid society, must not be entirely 
attributed to his melancholy disposition ; nor his love 
of solitude to a misanthropic mind. Every acute and 
scientific observer of the life and character of this ex- 
traordinary man will immediately perceive that the 
seeds of that melancholy disposition, and fretful tem- 
per, which through life destroyed his repose, were sown 
by nature in his constitution. He confesses indeed, to 
use his own words, that "aproudmisanthrophy, and pe- 
culiar contempt for the riches and pleasures of the 
world, constituted the chief traits of his character." 
This proud spirit and contemptuous mind were mixed 
with an extreme sensibility of heart, and an excessive 
indolence of disposition ; and his body, which was na- 
turally feeble, suffered, from ill health, the keenest ago- 
nies, and most excruciating disorders, to which the hu- 
man frame is incident. Persecution also had levelled 
the most pointed and severely barbed shafts against 
him ; and he was forced to endure, amidst the pangs 
of poverty, and the sorrows of sickness, all that envy, 
hatred, and malice, could inflict. It has been said, that 
the persecutions he experienced were not so much 
excited by the new dogmas, or eccentric paradoxes, 
which, both on politics^and religion, pervade all his 
writings, as by the refinement of his extraordinary 
talents, the wonderful splendor of his eloquence, and 
the increasing extent of his fame. His adversaries cer- 
tainly pursued him, not only with bigotry and intole- 
rance, but with an inconsistency which revealed, in a 
great degree, the secret motives by which they were 
actuated ; for they condemned, with the sharpest viru- 
lence, the freedom of his religious tenets, even in places 
where the religious creed of Voltaire was held in the 
highest admiration, and where atheism had collected 
the most learned advocates, and displayed the very 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 223 

standard of infidelity and disbelief. Harrassed by the 
frowns of fortune, and pursued with unrelenting enmi- 
ty by men whose sympathy and kindness he had anx- 
iously endeavored to obtain, it is scarcely surprising 
that the cheerfulness of his disposition, and the kind- 
ness of his heart, should be subdued by those senti- 
ments of aversion and antipathy which he fancied 
most of his intimates entertained against him : and 
the invectives from the pen of his former friend and 
confidant, Voltaire, together with many others that 
might be adduced, particularly the letter whicn was 
fabricated in the name of the king of Prussia, for the 
purpose of exposing him to ridicule, prove that his sus- 
picions on the subject were not unfounded. The voice, 
indeed of mankind, seems ready to exclaim that this 
eccentric philosopher was not only a misanthrope, but 
a madman ; but those who are charitably disposed, 
will recollect that he was a martyr to ill health ; that 
nature had bestowed upon him a discontented mind ; 
that his nerves were in a continued state of irritation ; 
and that to preserve equanimity of temper when goad- 
ed by the shafts of calumny and malice, requires such 
an extraordinary degree of fortitude and passive cou- 
rage as few individuals are found to possess. His faults 
are remembered, while the wonderful bloom and un- 
common vigor of his genius, are forgotten or concealed. 
The production from which his merits are in general 
estimated, is that which is called "The Confessions:" 
a work written under the pressure of calamity, in sick- 
ness and in sorrow ; amidst fears, distresses, and suffer- 
ings : when the infirmities which accompany old age, 
and the debility which attends continued ill health, had 
injured the tone of his mind, overpowered his reason, 
and perverted his feelings to such a degree, as to create 
an almost total transformation of the character of the 
man, and deprive him of his identity : but this degrad- 
ing work ought, in candor, to be considered as a deplo- 
rable instance of the weakness of human nature, and 
how unable it is to support its own dignity when at- 
tacked by the adversities of fortune, and the malice of 
mankind. The greatness of Rousseau ought to be 
erected on a different basis: for his earliest works are 
certainly sufficient to support the extent of his fame as 
an author, however they may, on particular subjects, ex- 
pose his integrity as a man. 

The anxieties which a vehemence of imagination, 
and a tender texture of the nervous system at all times 



224 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

produce, are highly injurious to the faculties of the 
mind; and, when accompanied by sickness or by sor- 
row, wear out the intellect in proportion to its vigor 
and activity. To use the popular metaphor upon this 
subject, "The sword becomes too sharp for the scab- 
bard ;" and the body and the mind are thereby exposed 
to mutual destruction. 

Religious melancholy is, of all other descriptions of 
this dreadful disease, most heightened and aggravated 
by solitude. The dreadful idea of having irretrievably 
lost the divine favor, and of being an object unworthy 
of the intercession of our Saviour, incessantly haunts 
the mind, laboring under religious despondency; and 
the imagination being left, in solitude, entirely to its 
own workings, increases the horrors which such 
thoughts must unavoidably inspire. 

Her lash Tisiphone that moment shakes , 
The mind she scourges with a thousand snakes, 
And to her aid, with many a thundering yell j 
Calls her dire sisters trom the gulf of hell ! 

These mutual tortures, even when heightened by 
the gloominess of solitude, are frequently still further 
increased by the mischievous doctrines of bigoted 
priests, who by mistaking the effects of nervous de- 
rangement, or theological errors, for the compunctious 
visitings 01 a guilty mind, establish and mature, by the 
injudicious application of scriptural texts, and precepts 
01 casuistry, the very disease which they thus ignorant- 
ly and presumptuously endeavor to remove. The 
wound, thus tainted by the most virulent and corrosive 
of the intellectual poisons, becomes extremely difficult 
to cure. The pure and uncontaminated tenets of the 
Christian faith furnishes, perhaps, the surest antidotes ; 
and when these balms of true comfort are infused by 
such enlightened and discerning minds as Luther, Til- 
lotson, and Clark, the most rational hope may be enter- 
tained of a speedy recovery. The writings of those 
holy teachers confirm the truth of the observation, 
that the deleterious gloom of superstition assumes a 
a darker aspect in the shades of retirement, and they 
uniformly exhort the unhappy victims of this religious 
error to avoid solitude as the most certain enemy of 
this dreadful infirmity. 

Solitude, however, is not the only soil in which this 
noxious weed springs up, spreading around its baleful 
glooms j it sometimes appears with deeply rooted vio- 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 225 

lence in minds unused to retirement of every kind. In 
the course of my practice as a physician, I was called 
upon to attend a young lady, whose natural disposition 
had been extremely cheerful, until a severe fit of sick- 
ness damped her spirits, and rendered her averse to all 
those lively pleasures which fascinate the youthful 
mind. The debility of her frame, and the change of 
her temper were not sufficiently attended to in the early 
stages of her convalescence. The anxiety of her mind 
was visible in the altered features of her face; and she 
was frequently heard to express a melancholy regret 
that she had consumed so many hours in the frivolous, 
though innocent, amusements of the age. Time in- 
creased, by almost imperceptible degrees, these symp- 
toms of approaching melancholy; and at length exhi- 
bited themselves by penitential lamentations of the sin 
she had committed with respect to the most trifling 
actions of her life, and in which no shadow of of- 
fence could possibly be found. At the time I was called 
in, this superstitious melancholy was attended with 
certain indications of mental derangement. The dis- 
temper clearly originated in the indisposition of the 
body, and the gloomy apprehensions which disease and 
pain, had introduced, into the mind, during a period of 
many months. This once lively, handsome, but now 
almost insane female, was daily attacked with such vio- 
lent paroxysms of her complaint, that she lost all sense 
of her situation, and exclaimed, in horrid distraction 
and deep despair, that her perdition was already accom- 
plished, and that the fiends were waiting to receive her 
soul and plunge it into the bitterest torments of hell. 
Her constitution, however, still fortunately retained suf- 
ficient strength to enable me, by the power of medicine, 
gradually to change its temperament, and to reduce 
the violence of the fever which had been long preying 
upon her life. Her mind became more calm in propor- 
tion as her nerves recovered their former tone ; and 
when her intellectual powers were in a condition to 
be acted on with effect, I successfully counteracted the 
baleful effects of superstition by the wholesome infu- 
sion of real religion, and restored by degrees, a lovely, 
young, and virtuous woman, to her family and herself. 
Another instance of a similar nature occurred very 
recently, in which the patient experienced all those 
symptoms, which prognosticate the approach of reli- 
gious melancholy, and the completion of whose sorrow 
and despondency would quickly have been effected, if 



226 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

good fortune had not deprived her of the advice of an 
ignorant and bigoted priest, to whom her friends, when 
I was called in, had resolved to apply. This young 
lady, whose mind remained pure and un corrupted 
amidst all the luxuries and dissipations which usually 
accompany illustrious birth and elevated station, pos- 
sessed by nature great tranquillity of disposition, and 
lived with quietude and content, far retired from the 
pleasures of the world. I had been long acquainted 
with her family, and entertained for them the warmest 
esteem. The dangerous condition of her health gave 
me great anxiety and concern ; for whenever she "was 
left one moment to herself, and even in company, 
whenever she closed her eyes, a thousand horrid spec- 
tres presented themselves to her disordered mind, and 
seemed ready to devour her from every corner of the 
apartment. I inquired whether these imaginary spec- 
tres made any impression upon the affections of her 
heart: but she answered in the negative, and described 
the horrors which she felt from the supposed fierceness 
of their eyes, and the threatening gesticulations of 
their bodies. 1 endeavored to compose herby assuring 
her that they were the creatures of fancy, the wild chi- 
meras of a weakened brain ; that her long course of 
ill health had affected her mind ; and thatVhen a pro- 
per course of medicine, dietic regimen, and gentle ex- 
ercise, had restored her strength, these dreadful appear- 
ances would give way to the most delightful visions. 
The course I pursued succeeded in a short time be- 
yond my most sanguinary expectations, and I raised 
her languid powers to health and happiness. But if she 
had confided the anxieties of her mind to her confes- 
sor, instead of her physician, the holy father would, in 
all probability, have ascribed her gloomy apprehensions 
to the machinations of the devil, and have used nothing 
but pure spiritual antidotes to destroy them, which 
would have increased the -melancholy, and possibly 
have thrown her into the darkest abyss of madness and 
despair. 

This grievous malady, indeed, is not the exclusive 
offspring of mistaken piety and religious zeal ; for it 
frequently invades minds powerful by nature, improved 
by science, and assisted by rational society. Health, 
learning, conversation, highly advantageous as they un- 
questionably are to the powers both of the body and 
the mind, have, in particular instances, been found in- 
capable of resisting the influence of intense speculation, 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 227 

an atrabilarius constitution, and a superstitious habit. 
I have already mentioned the thick cloud of melancho- 
ly which obscured the latter days of the great and just- 
ly celebrated Haller, which were passed under the op- 
pression of a religious despondency, that robbed him 
not only of all enjoyment, but almost of life itself. 
During the long period of four years, immediately an- 
tecedent to his death, he lived (if such a state could be 
called existence) in continual misery ; except, indeed, 
at those short intervals when the returning powers of 
his mind enabled him, by the employment of his pen, to 
experience a temporary relief. A long course of ill 
health had forced him into an excessive use of opium, 
and by taking gradually increased quantities of that 
inspissated juice, he kept himself continually fluctuating 
between a state of mind naturally elevated and deeply 
dejected ; for the first effects of this powerful drug are 
like those of a strong stimulating cordial, but they are 
soon succeeded by universal langour, or irresistable pro- 
pensity to sleep, attended with dreams of the most agi- 
tated and enthusiastic nature. I was myself an eye- 
witness of the dreary melancholy into which this great 
and good man was plunged about two years before the 
kind, but cold, and though friendly, yet unwelcome 
hand of death, released him from his pains. The so- 
ciety, which, during that time, he was most solici- 
tous to obtain, was that of priests and ecclesiastics of 
every description: he was uneasy when they 
were not with him: nor was he always happy in his 
choice of these spiritual comforters; for though, at 
times, he was attended by some of the most enlightened 
and orthodox divines of the age and country in which 
he lived, he was at others surrounded by those whom 
nothing but the reduced and abject state of his facul- 
ties would have suffered him to endure. But during 
even this terrible subversion of his intellectual powers, 
his love of glory still survived in its original radiance, 
and defied all the terrors both of hell and earth to 
destroy or diminish their force. Haller had embraced 
very deep and serious notions of the importance of 
Christianity to the salvation of the soul, and the re- 
demption of mankind, which, by the ardency of his tem- 
per, and the saturnine disposition of his mind, were 
carried into a mistaken zeal and apprehension ; and, 
instead of affording the comfort and consolation its te- 
nets and principles are so eminently calculated to in- 
spire, aggravated his feelings and destroyed his repose. 



228 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

In a letter which he wrote a few days before his death, 
to his great and good friend, the celebrated Heyne, of 
Gottingen, in which he announces the deep sense he 
entertained from his great age and multiplied infirmi- 
ties, of his impending dissolution, he expressed his firm 
belief of revelation, and his faith in the mercy of God, 
and the intercession of Jesus Christ; but hints his 
fears lest the manifold sins, and the various errors and 
transgressions which the natural frailty of man must 
have accumulated during a course of seventy years, 
should have rendered his soul too guilty to expect the 
promised mercy to repentant sinners, and earnestly re- 
quests of him to inquire of his acquaintance Less,' the 
virtuous divine of that place, whether he could not fur- 
nish him with some pious work that might tend to de- 
crease the terrors he felt from the idea of approaching 
death, and relieve his tortured spirit from the ap- 
prehension of eternal punishment. The sentiments 
which occupied the mind of this pious philosopher 
when the dreaded hour actually arrived, whether it 
was comforted by the bright rays of hope, or dismayed 
into total eclipse by the dark clouds of despair, those 
who surrounded his dying couch have not communi- 
cated to the world. Death, while it released both his 
body and his mind from the painful infirmities and de- 
lusions under which they had so long and so severely 
suffered, left his fame, which, while living, he had 
valued much dearer than his life, exposed to the cruel 
shafts of slander and malevolence. A young noble- 
man of the canton of Berne, either moved by his own 
malice, or made an instrument of the malice of others, 
asserted in a letter, which was for a long time publicly 
exhibited in the university of Gottingen, that Haller 
had in his last moments denied his belief of the truth 
of Christianity. But those by whom he was then sur- 
rounded, betray, by the propagation of this falsehood, 
the fears they entertain of the firm support which his 
approbation would have given to that pure and pious 
system of religion, which they, it is well known, 
are so disposed to destroy. For certain it is, that Hal- 
ler never doubted any of the attributes of the Deity, 
except his mercy; and this doubt was not the offspring 
of infidelity, but a crude abortion of that morbid melan- 
choly which, during his latter days, settled so severely 
on his distempered mind. The same dread which he 
entertained of death, has been felt with equal if not 
greater horror, by minds as powerful and less supersti- 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 229 

tious. He candidly confessed the important and ab- 
struse point upon which he had not been able to satisfy 
himself. His high sense of virtue made even his own 
almost exemplary and unblemished life appear, in his 
too refined speculations, grossly vicious. Mercy, he 
knew, must unavoidably, be correlative with justice ; 
and he unfortunately conceived that no repentance, 
however sincere, could so purify the sinful, and, as he 
imagined, deplorable corruption of his soul, as to ren- 
der it worthy of divine grace. So utterly had the 
melancholy dejection of his mind deprived him of a 
just sense of his character, and perfect knowledge of 
the nature of the Almighty. The mournful propensity 
of this great man must, if he had passed his days either 
in pious abstinence, or irrational solitude, have hurried 
him rapidly into irrecoverable frenzy ; but Haller en- 
joyed the patronage of the great, the conversation of 
the learned, the company of the polite ; and he not only 
suspended the effects of his malady, and of the medi- 
cines by which he attempted to relieve it, by these ad- 
vantages, but by the sciences, which he so dearly loved 
and so successfully cultivated. The horrible evil, how- 
ever, bowed him down in spite of all his efforts, and 
particularly oppressed him whenever he relaxed from 
ins literary pursuits, or consulted his ghostly comforters 
on the lost condition of his soul. 

Solitude, to a mind laboring under these erroneous 
notions of religion, operates like a rack, by which the 
imagination inflicts the severest tortures on the soul. 
A native of Geneva, a young man of very elegant man- 
ners, and a highly cultivated mind, some time since 
consulted me upon the subject of a nervous complaint, 
which I immediately discovered to be the consequence 
of a mistaken zeal for religion, a disposition naturally 
sedentary, and a habit which is too frequently indulged 
in solitude by unthinking youth. These circumstances 
had already made the most dreadful inroads both on 
his body and his mind. His emaciated frame was dailv 
enfeebled by his paralyzed intellects, and he at length 
fell into a settled melancholy, which continued four 
years to defy the power of medicine, and finally de- 
stroyed his nervous system. A strong conviction of 
the heinous sin into which the blindness of his passion 
and evil example, had led him, at length flashed sud- 
denly on his mind, and he felt, wfth the keenest 
compunctions of a wounded conscience, how impious 
he must appear to the all-seeing eye of the great 



230 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

Creator. Consternation and dismay seized his guilty 
mind ; and the sense of virtue and religion, which he 
was naturally disposed to entertain, served only to in- 
crease his horror and distraction. He would have 
sought a refuge from the arrows of remorse under the 
protecting shields of penitence and prayer, but a scru- 
pulous apprehension interposed the idea that it would 
be profanation in so guilty a sinner to exercise the of- 
fices of a pure and holy religion. He at length, however, 
proceeded to confession ; but recollecting, after every 
disclosure, that he had still omitted many of his trans- 
gressions, additional horror seized upon his mind and 
tortured his feelings on the irrecoverable condition of 
His guilty soul. At intervals, indeed, he was able to 
perceive that the perturbations of his mind were the 
produce of his disorganized frame and disordered 
spirit ) and he endeavored to recruit the one by air and 
exercise, and to dissipate the other by scenes of festivi- 
ty and mirth : but his disorder had fixed his fibres too 
deeply in his constitution to be eradicated by such slight 
and temporary remedies. From the inefficacious anti- 
dotes of social pleasure and worldly dissipation, he 
was induced to try the calm and sedentary effects of 
solitary study ; but his faculties were incapable of tast- 
ing the refined and elegant occupations of learning and 
the muse; his powers of reasoning were destroyed; 
his sensibilities, excepting on the subject of his com- 
plaint, were dried up ; and neither the sober investiga- 
tions of science, nor the more lively charms of poetry, 
were capable of affording him the least consolation. 
Into so abject a state, indeed, did his intellectual facul- 
ties at length fall, that he had not, during one period, 
sufficent ability to compute the change due to him 
from any piece of coin in the common transactions of 
life; and he confessed that he had been frequently- 
tempted, by the deepness of his distress, to release both 
his body and his mind from their cruel sufferings, and 
"to shake impatiently his great affliction off " by self 
destruction ; but the idea oT heaping new punishment 
on his soul, by the perpetration of this additional crime, 
continually interposed, and saved him from the guilty 
deed. During this state of mental derangement, he 
fortunately met with a liberal minded and rational di- 
vine, who, free from the errors of priestcraft, and pos- 
sessed of a profound knowledge of the virtues of reli- 
gion andthe structure of the human mind, undertook 
the ardous but humane and truly philosophic task, of 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 231 

endeavoring to bring back his mind to a rational sense 
of its guilt, and to a firm hope of pardon through the 
intercession of our Saviour. Religion, that sweet and 
certain comforter of human woes, at length effected a 
partial recovery, and restored him to a degree of, tran- 
quillity and repose ; but he still continued to suffer, for 
years afterward, so great a misery from the shattered 
condition of his nerves, that he could not even com- 
pose a letter upon the most trifling and indifferent sub- 
ject without the greatest labor and pain. As his feel- 
ings had never been hurt by any sense of injury re- 
ceived from mankind, he entertained no antipathy to 
his species ; but as he was conscious that his reduced 
state of health prevented him from keeping up any ra- 
tional or pleasing intercourse with them, he felt a sort 
of abhorrence to society, and refused, even when ad- 
vised by his physicians and intimate friends, to mingle 
in its pleasures, or engage in its concerns. The propo- 
sal, indeed, appeared as extravagant and absurd to his 
feelings, as if a man, almost choking under the convul- 
sion of a confirmed asthma, had been told that it was 
only necessary for him to breathe freely in order to ac- 
quire perfect ease. This deplorable state of health in- 
duced him to consult several Italian and English phy- 
sicians ; and being advised to try the effects of a sea 
voyage, he set sail for Riga, where he safely arrived ; 
but, after a residence of six months, found himself un- 
altered, and precisely in the same dreadful condition in 
which he had set sail. On his return, I was called in 
to his assistance. There were at this period but very 
few of those gloomy and noxious vapors of superstition 
which had so tormented his mind, remaining; but his 
body, and particularly his nervous system, .was still 
racked with agonizing pains. I had the good fortune 
to afford him great relief; and when at times his suffer- 
ings were suspended, and his spirits enlivened by pleas- 
ing conversation, he was certainly one of the most en- 
taining men, both as to the vivacity of his wit, the 
shrewdness of his observations, the powers of his rea- 
soning, and the solidity of his judgment, that I had 
ever known. 

These instances clearly evince how dangerous soli- 
tude may prove to minds predisposed, by accident or 
nature, to indulge a misdirected imagination, either 
upon the common subjects of life, or upon the more 
important and affecting topic of religion ; but it must 
not be concluded from the observations I have already 



232 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

made, that a rational retirement from the vices, the 
vanities, and the vexations of the world, is equally un- 
friendly, under all circumstances, to a sickly mind. 
The cool and quiet repose which seclusion affords, is 
frequently the most advantageous remedy which can 
be adopted for the recovery of a disturbed imagination. 
It would indeed be the height of absurdity to recom- 
mend to a person suffering under a derangement of 
the nervous system, the diversions and dissipations of 
public life, when it is known, by sad experience, as well 
as by daily observation, that the least hurry disorders 
their frame, and the gentlest intercourse palpitates 
their hearts, and shakes their brains, almost to distrac- 
tion. The healthy and robust can have no idea how 
violent the slightest touch vibrates through the trem- 
bling nerves of the dejected valetudinarian. The gay 
and healthy, therefore, seldom sympathize with the sor- 
rowful and the sick. This, indeed, is one reason why 
those who, having lost the firm and vigorous tone of 
mind which is so essentially necessary in the inter- 
courses of the world, generally abandon society, and 
seek in the softness of solitude a solace for their cares 
and anxieties ; for there they frequently find a kind 
asylum, where the soul rests free from disturbance, and 
in time appeases the violence of its emotions : for wC the 
foster nurse of nature is repose." Experience, alas! 
sad experience, has but too well qualified me to treat ol 
this subject. In the fond expectation of being able to 
re-establish my nervous system, and to regain that 
health which I had broken down, and almost destroyed 
by intense application, I repaired to the Circle of West- 
phalia, in order to taste the waters of Pyrmont, and to 
divert the melancholy of my mind by the company 
which resorts to that celebrated spring: but, alas! I 
was unable to enjoy the lively scene ; and I walked 
through multitudes of the great, the elegant, and the 
gay, in painful stupor, scarcely recognizing the features 
of my friends, and fearful of being noticed by those 
who knew me. The charms of wit, and the splendors 
of youthful beauty, were to me as unaliuring as age 
and ugliness, when joined to the deformities of vice, 
and the fatiguing prate of senseless folly. During this 
miserable impotence of soul, and while I vainly soughr 
a temporary relief of my own calamity, I was hourly 
assailed by a crowd of wretched souls, who implored 
me to afford them my professional aid, to alleviate those 
pains which time, alas ! had fixed in their constitutions 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 233 

and which depended more on the management and re- 
formation of their own minds, than on the powers of 
medicine to cure. For— 

I could not minister to a mind diseased, 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain, 
And, with a sweet oblivious antidote, 
Cleanse the stufrM bosom of that perilous stuff 
Which weighed upon the heart. 

To avoid these painful importunities, I flew from the 
tasteless scenes with abrupt and angry violence ; and 
confining myself to the solitude of my apartments, pass- 
ed the lingering day in dreary dejection, musing on the 
melancholy group from which I had just escaped. But 
my home did not long afford me an asylum. I was on 
the ensuing day assailed by a host of hypochondriacs, 
attended by their respective advisers, who, while my 
own nervous malady was raging at its full height, stun- 
ned me with the various details of their imaginary 
woes, and excruciated me the whole day with their un- 
founded ails and tormenting lamentations. The friend- 
ly approach of night at length relieved me from their 
importunities; but my spirits had been exhausted, my 
feelings so vexed, my patience so tried, and the sensi- 
bilities of my mind so aggravated, by the persecution I 
had endured, that— 

" Tir'd nature's sweet restorer, balmly sleep," 

fled from my eyes ; and I lay restless upon my couch, 
alive only to my miseries, in a state of anguish more 
insupportable than my bitterest enemies would, I hope, 
have inflicted on me. About noon, on the ensuing day, 
while I was endeavoring to procure on the sofa a short 
repose, the princess Orlow, accompanied by two other 
very agreeable Russian ladies, whose company and 
conversation it was both my pride and my pleasure fre- 
quently to enjoy, suddenly entered my apartment, to 
inquire after my health, of the state of which they had 
received an account only a few hours before; but such 
Vas the petulance of temper into which my disordered 
mind had betrayed me, that I immediately rose, and 
with uncivil vehemence, requested they would not dis- 
turb me. The fair intruders instantly left the room. 
About an hour afterward, and while I was reflecting 
on the impropriety of my conduct, the prince himself 
20* 



234 EFFECTS OF SOLITUDE 

honored me with a visit. He placed himself on a chair 
close by the couch on which 1 lay, and, with that kind 
affection which belongs to his character, inquired, with 
the tenderest and most sympathizing concern, into the 
cause of my disorder. There was a charm in his kind- 
ness and attention that softened, in some degree, the 
violence of my pains. He continued his visit lor some 
time; and when he was about to leave me, after pre- 
mising that I knew him too well to suspect that super- 
stition had any influence in his mind, said, "Let me 
advise you, whenever you find yourself in so waspish 
and petulant a mood, as you must have been in when 
you turned the princess and her companions out of the 
room, to endeavor to check the violence of your tem- 
per ; and I think you will find it an excellent expedient 
for this purpose, if, while any friend is kindiy inquiring 
after your health, however averse you may be at the 
moment to such an inquiry, instead of driving him so 
uncivilly away, you would employ yourself in a silent 
mental repetition of the Lord's prayer: it might prove 
very salutary, and would certainly be much more satisfac- 
tory to your mind." No advice could be better imagined 
than this was to divert the emotions of impatience, by 
creating in the mind new objects of attention, and turn- 
ing the raging current of distempered thought into a 
more pure and peaceful channel. Experience, indeed, 
has enabled me to announce the efficacy and virtue of 
this expedient. I have frequently, by the practice of it, 
defeated the fury of petulant passions, and completely 
subdued many of those absurdities which vex and tease 
us in the hours of grief and during the sorrows of sick- 
ness. Others also to whom I have recommended it, 
have experienced from it similar effects. The prince, 
" my guide, philosopher, and friend," a few weeks after 
he had given me this wise and salutary advice, consult- 
ed me respecting the difficulty he frequently labored 
under in suppressing the violence of those transports of 
affection which he bore toward his young and amiable 
consort, and which, in a previous conversation on phi- 
losophic subjects, I had seriously exhorted him to check, 
under a conviction, that a steady flame is more perma- 
nent and pure than a raging fire. He asked me with 
some concern what expedient I could recommend to 
him as most likely to control those emotions which 
happy lovers are so anxious to indulge. "My dear 
friend," I replied, " there is no expedient can surpass 
your own j and whenever the intemperance of passion 



ON A MELANCHOLY MIND. 23.5 

is in danger of subverting the dictates of reason, repeat 
the Lord's prayer, and I have no doubt you will foil its 
fury." 

When the mind is thus enabled to check and regu- 
late the effects of the passions, and bring back the tem- 
per to its proper tone and rational basis, the serenity 
and calmness of solitude assists the achievement, and 
completes the victory. It is then so far from infusing 
into the mind the virulent passions we have before de- 
scribed, that it affords a soft and pleasing balm to the 
soul ; and instead of being its greatest enemy, becomes 
its highest blessing and its warmest friend. 

Solitude, indeed, as I have already observed, is far 
from betraying well-regulated minds either into the 
miseries of melancholy, or the danger of eccentricism. 
It raises a healthy and vigorous imagination to its no- 
blest production, elevates it when dejected, calms it 
when disturbed, and restores it, when partially disor- 
dered, to its natural tone. It is as in every other mat- 
ter, whether physical or moral, the abuse of solitude 
which renders it dangerous ; like every powerful medi- 
cine, it is attended, when misapplied, with most mis- 
chievous consequences: but when properly administer- 
ed, is pleasant in its taste, and highly salutary in its 
effects. He who knows how to enjoy it can 

truly tell 

To live in solitude is with truth to dwell; 

Where gay content with healthy temperance meets, 

And learning intermixes all its sweets ; 

Where friendship, elegance, and arts unite 

To make the hours glide social, easy, bright : 

He tastes the converse of the purest mind : 

Though mild, yet manly : and though plain, refined ; 

And through the moral world expatiates wide 

Truth as his end, and virtue as his guide. 



CHAPTER VI. 

The influence of solitude on the passions. 

The passions lose in solitude a certain portion of 
that regulating weight by which in society they are 
guided and controled ; the counteracting effects pro- 
duced by variety, the restraints imposed by the obliga- 
tions of civility, and the checks which arise from the 
calls of humanity, occur much less frequently in retire- 



230 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

ment than amidst the multifarious transactions of a 
busy world. The desires and sensibilities of the heart 
having no real objects oil which tiieir vibrations can 
pendulate, are stimulated and increased by the powers 
of imagination. All the propensities of the soul, in- 
deed, experience a degree of restlessness and vehe- 
mence greater than they ever feel while diverted by the 
pleasures, subdued by the surrounding distresses, and 
engaged by the business of active and social life. 

The calm which seems to accompany the mind in its 
retreat is deceitful ; the passions are secretly at work 
within the heart; the imagination is continually heap- 
ing fuel on the latent fire, and at length the laboring 
desire bursts forth, and glows with volcanic heat and 
fury. The temporary inactivity and inertness which 
retirement seems to impose, may check, but cannot sub- 
due the energies of spirit. The high pride and lofty 
ideas of great and independent minds may be, for a 
while, lulled into repose; but the moment the feelings 
of such a character are awakened by indignity or out- 
rage, its anger springs like an elastic body drawn from 
its centre, and pierces with vigorous severity the object 
that provoked it. The perils of solitude, indeed, al- 
ways increase in proportion as the sensibilities, imagi- 
nations, and passions of its votaries are quick, excur- 
sive, and violent. The man may be the inmate of a 
cottage, but the same passions and inclinations still 
lodge within his heart: his mansion may be changed, 
but their residence is the same ; and though they ap- 
pear to be silent and undisturbed, they are~secretly in- 
fluencing all the propensities of his heart. Whatever 
be the cause of his retirement, whether it be a sense of 
undeserved misfortune, the ingratitude of supposed 
friends, the pangs ot despised love, or the disappoint- 
ment of ambition, memory prevents the wound from 
healing, and stings the soul with indignation and re- 
sentment. The image of departed pleasures haunts 
the mind, and robs it of its wished tranquillity. The 
ruling passion still subsists ; it fixes itself more strong- 
ly on the fancy ; moves with greater agitation ; and be- 
comes, in retirement, in proportion as it is inclined to 
vice or virtue, either a horrid and tormenting spectre, in- 
flicting appn-hension and dismay, or a delightful and sup- 
porting angel, irradiating the countenance with smiles 
of joy, and filling the heart with peace and gladness. 

Blest is the man, as far as earth can bless, 
Whose meas-ur'd passions reach no wild excess j 



ON THE PASSIONS. 237 

Who, urged by nature's voice, her gifts enjoys, 
Nor other means than nature's force employs. 
While warm with youth the sprightly current flows, 
Each vivid sense with vigorous rapture glows j 
And when he droops beneath the hand of age, 
No vicious habit stings with fruitless rage ; 
Gradual his strengthTand gay sensations cease, 
While joys tumultuous sink in silent peace. 

The extraordinary power which the passions assume, 
and the improper channel in which they are apt to flow 
in retired situations, is conspicuous from the greater 
acrimony with which they are in general tainted in 
small villages than in large towns. It is true, indeed, 
that they do not always explode in such situations with 
the open and daring violence which they exhibit in the 
metropolis ; but lie buried as it were, and mouldering 
in the bosom with a more malignant flame. To those 
who only observe the listlessness and languor which 
distinguish the characters of those who reside in small 
provincial towns, the slow and uniform rotation of 
amusements which fills up the leisure of their lives ; 
the confused wildness of their cares ; the poor subter- 
fuges to which they are continually resorting, in order 
to avoid the clouds of discontent that impend in angry 
darkness, over their heads; the lagging current of their 
drooping spirits; the miserable poverty of their intel- 
lectual powers ; the eagerness with which they strive 
to raise a card party; the transports they enjoy on the 
prospect of any new diversion or occasional exhibition ; 
the haste with which they run toward any sudden, un- 
expected noise that interrupts the deep silence of their 
situation ; and the patient, industry with which, from 
day to day, they watch each other's conduct, and circu- 
late reports of every action of each other's lives, will 
scarcely imagine that any virulence of passion can dis- 
turb the bosoms of persons who live in so quiet and 
seemingly composed a state. But the unoccupied time 
and barren minds of such characters cause the faintest 
emotions, and most common desires, to act with all 
the violence of high and untamed passions. The low- 
est diversions, a cock fighting, or a pony race, make 
the bosom of a country 'squire beat with the highest 
rapture ; while the inability to attend the monthly ball 
fills the minds of his wife and daughter with the keen- 
est anguish. Circumstances, which scarcely make any 
impression on those who reside in the metropolis, plunge 
every description of residents in a country village into 



238 INFLUENCE OP SOLITUDE 

all the extravagances of joy, or the dejection of sorrow ; 
from the peer to the peasant, from the duchess to the 
dairy maid, all is rapture and convulsion. Competition 
is carried on for the humble honors and petty interests 
of a sequestered town, or miserable hamlet, with as 
much heat and rancor, as it is for the highest dignities 
and greatest emoluments of the state. Upon many oc- 
casions, indeed, ambition, envy, revenge, and all the 
disorderly and malignant passions, are felt and exer- 
cised with a greater degree of violence and obstinacy 
amidst the little contentions of claybuilt cottages, than 
ever prevailed amidst the highest commotions of courts. 
Plutarch relates that when Caesar, after his appoint- 
ment to the government of Spain, came to a little town, 
as he was passing the Alps, his friends, by way of mirth, 
took occasion to say, " Can there here be any disputes 
for offices, any contentions for precedency, or such envy 
and ambition as we behold among the great in all the 
transactions of imperial Rome '?" The idea betrayed 
their ignorance of human nature ; while the celebrated 
reply of their great commander, that he would rather 
be the first wan in this Little town, than the second even 
in the imperial city, spoke the language, not of an in- 
dividual, but of the species; and instructed them that 
there is no place, however insignificant, in which the 
same passions do not proportionately prevail. The 
humble competitors for village honors, however low 
and subordinate they may be, feel as great anxiety for 
pre-eminence, as much jealousy of rivals, and as violent 
envy against superiors, as agitate the bosoms of the 
most ambitious statesmen in contending for the highest 
prize of glory, of riches, or of power. The manner, 
perhaps, in which these inferior candidates exert their 
passions may be less artful, and the objects of them 
less noble, but they are certainly not less virulent. 
" Having," says Euphelia, who had quitted London, to 
enjoy the quietude and happiness of a rural village, 
u been driven by the mere necessity of escaping from 
absolute inactivity, to make myself more acquainted 
with the affairs and happiness of this place, I am now 
no longer a stranger to rural conversation and employ- 
ments ; but am far from discerning in them more inno- 
cence or wisdom than in the sentiments or conduct of 
those with whom I have passed more cheerful and 
more fashionable hours. It is common to reproach the 
tea table and the park, with giving opportunities and 
encouragement to scandal. I cannot wholly clear them 



ON THE PASSIONS. 239 

from the charge, but must, however, observe, in favor 
of the modish prattlers, that if not by principle, we are 
at least by accident, less guilty of defamation than the 
country ladies. For, having greater numbers to ob- 
serve and censure, we are commonly content to charge 
them only with their own faults or follies, and seldom 
give way to malevolence, but such as arises from injury 
or affront, real or imaginary, offered to ourselves. But 
in those distant provinces, where the same families in- 
habit the same houses from age to age, they transmit 
and recount the faults of a whole succession. I have 
been informed how every estate in the neighborhood 
was originally got, and find, if I may credit the ac- 
counts given me, that there is not a single acre in the 
hands of the right owner. I have been told of intrigues 
between beaus and toasts, that have been now three 
centuries in their quiet graves ; and am often entertain- 
ed with traditional scandal on persons of whose names 
there would have been no remembrance, had they not 
committed somewhat that might disgrace their descen- 
dants. If once there happens a quarrel between the 
principal persons of two families, the malignity is con- 
tinued without end ; and it is common for old maids to 
fall out about some election in which their grandfathers 
were competitors. Thus malice and hatred descend 
here with an inheritance ; and it is necessary to be well 
versed in history, that the various factions of the coun- 
try may be understood. You cannot expect to be on 
good terms with families who are resolved to love no- 
thing in common ; and in selecting your intimates, 
you are, perhaps, to consider which party you most 
favor in the barons' wars." 

Resentments and enmities burn with a much more 
furious flame among the thinly-scattered inhabitants 
of a petty village, than amidst the ever varying con- 
course of a great metropolis. The objects by which 
the passions are set on fire are hidden from our view 
by the tumults which prevail in a crowded city, and 
the bosom willingly loses the pains which such emo- 
tions excite when the causes which occasioned them 
are forgot : but in country villages, the thorns by which 
the feelings have been hurt are continually before our 
eyes, and preserve on every approach toward them, a 
remembrance of the injuries sustained. An extreme 
devout and highly religious lady, who resided in a re- 
tired hamlet in Swisserland, once told me, in a convei- 
sation on this subject, that she had completely suppress- 



240 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

ed all indignation against the envy, the hatred, and 
the malice of her surrounding neighbors ; for that she 
found they were so deeply dyed in sin. that a rational 
remonstrance was lost upon them ; and that the only 
vexation she felt from a sense of their wretchedness 
arose from the idea that her soul would at the last day 
be obliged to keep company with such incorrigible 
wretches. 

The inhabitants of the country, indeed, both of the 
lower and middling classes, cannot be expected to pos- 
sess characters of a very respectable kind, when we 
look at the conduct of those who set them the example. 
A country magistrate, who has certainly great oppor- 
tunities of forming the manners and morals of the dis- 
trict over which he presides, is in general puffed up 
with high and extravagant conceptions of the supe- 
riority of his wisdom, and the extent of his power ; 
and raising his idea of the greatness of his character 
in an inverse proportion to his notions of the insignifi- 
cance and littleness of those around him, he sits en- 
throned with fancied pre-eminence, the disdainful ty- 
rant, rather than the kind protector of his neighb5rs. 
Deprived of all liberal and instructive society, confined 
in their knowledge both of men and things, the slaves 
of prejudice and the pupils of folly ; with contracted 
hearts and degraded faculties the inhabitants of a 
country village feel all the base and ignoble passions, 
sordid rapacity, mean envy, and insulting ostentation 
more forcibly than they are felt either in the enlarged 
society of the metropolis, or even in the confined cir- 
cle of the monastery. 

The social virtues, indeed, are almost totally excluded 
from cloisters, as well as from every other kind of soli- 
tary institution : for when the habits, interests, and 
pleasures of the species are pent up by any means within 
a narrow compass, mutual jealousies and exasperations 
must prevail; every trifling immunity, petty privilege, 
and paltry distinction, becomes an object of the most 
violent contention; and increasing animosities at 
length reach to such a degree of virulence, that the 
pious flock is converted into a herd of famished wolves, 
eager to worry and devour each other. 

The laws of every convent strictly enjoin the holy 
sisterhood to live in Christian charity and sincere affec- 
tion with each other. I have, however, when attend- 
ing these fair recluses in my professional character, 
observed many of them with wrinkles, that seemed 



ON THE PASSTONS. 241 

ratVier the effect of angry perturbation, than of 
peaceful age, with aspects formed rather by envy, 
hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, than by 
mild benevolence and singleness of heart. But 
I should do injustice if I did not declare, that I 
have seen some few who were strangers to such un- 
worthy passions; whose countenances were unin- 
dented by their effects : and whose beauty and comeli- 
ness still shone in their native lustre and simplicity. 
It was, indeed, painful to reflect upon the sufferings 
which these lovely innoceuts must endure, until the 
thoughts of their lost hopes, defeated happiness, and 
unmerited wrongs, should have changed the milky 
kindness of their virtuous dispositions into the gall-like 
bitterness of vexation and despair; until the bright- 
ness of their charming features should be darkened by 
the clouds of discontent, which their continued impri- 
sonment would create ; and until their cheerful and 
easy tempers should be perverted by the corrosions of 
those vindictive passions which the jealous furies, with 
whom they were immured, and to whom they formed 
so striking a contrast, must in time so cruelly inflict. 
These lovely mourners, on entering the walls ol a con- 
vent, are obliged to submit to the tyranny of an envi- 
ous superior, or the jealousy of the older inmates, 
whose angry passions arise in" proportion as they per- 
ceive others less miserable than themselves ; and re- 
tiring, at the stated periods, from their joint persecu- 
tion, they find that the gloomy solitude to which they 
have flown, only tends to aggravate and widen the 
wound it was expected to cure. It is, indeed, almost 
impossible for any female, however amiable, to pre- 
serve in the joyless gloom of conventual solitude the 
cheering sympathies of nature. A retrospect of her 
past life most probably exhibits to her tortured fancy, 
superstition stinging with scorpion like severity her 
pious mind ; love sacrificed on the alfar of family pride ; 
or fortune ruined by the avarice of a perfidious guar- 
dian ; while the future presents to her view the dreary 
prospect of an eternal and melancholy separation from 
all the enjoyments of society, and a continual exposure 
to the petulance and ill humorof the dissatisfied sister- 
hood. What disposition, however mild and gentle by 
nature, can preserve itself amidst such confluent dan- 
gers? How is it possible to prevent the most amiable 
tenderness of heart, the most lively and sensible mind 
from becoming under such circumstances, a prey to 
21 



242 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

the bitterness of affliction and malevolence 1 Those 
who have had an opportunity to observe the operation 
of the passions on the habits, humors, and dispositions 
of recluse females, have perceived with horror the 
cruel and unrelenting fury Vith which they goad the 
soul, and with what an imperious and irresistible voice 
they command obedience to their inclination. 

The passion of love, in particular, acts with much 
greater force upon the mind that endeavors to escape 
from its effects by retirement, than it does when it is 
either resisted or indulged. 

Retirement, under such circumstances, is a childish 
expedient ; it is expecting to achieve that, by means of 
a fearful flight, which it is frequently too much for the 
courage and the constancy of heroes to subdue. Re- 
tirement is the very nest and harbor of this powerful 
passion. How many abandon the gay and jovial cir- 
cles of the world, renounce even the most calm and 
satisfactory delights of friendship, and quit, without a 
sigh, the most delicious and highest seasoned pleasures 
of society, to seek in retirement the superior joys of 
love ! a passion in whose high and tender delights the* 
insolence of power, the treachery of friendship, and 
the most vindictive malice, is immediately forgot. It is 
a passion, when pure, that can never experience the 
least decay; no course of time, no change of place, no 
alteration of circumstances, can erase or lessen the 
ideas of that bliss which it has once imprinted on the 
heart. Its characters are indelible. Solitude, in its 
most charming state, and surrounded by its amplest 
powers, affords no resource against its anxieties, its 
jealous fears, its tender alarms, its soft sorrows, or its 
inspiringly tumultuous joys. The bosom that is once 
deeply wounded by the barbed dart of real love, seldom 
recovers its tranquillity, but enjoys, if happy, the high- 
est of human delights ; and if miserable, the deepest 
of human torments. But, although the love-sick shep- 
herd fills the lonely vallies, and the verdant groves, 
with the softest sighs, or severest sorrows, and the 
cells of the monasteries and convents resound with 
heavy groans and deep-toned curses against the malig- 
nity of this passion, solitude may perhaps, for a while 
suspend, if it cannot extinguish its fury. Of the truth 
of this observation, the history of those unfortunate, 
but real lovers, Abeiard and Eloisa, furnishes a memo- 
rable instance. 

In the twelfth century, and while Louis the Gross 



ON THE PASSIONS. 243 

filled the throne of France, was born in the retired 
village of Palais, in Brittany, the celebrated Peter Abe- 
lard. Nature had lavished the highest perfections both 
on his person and his mind: a liberal education im- 
proved to their utmost possible extent the gifts of na- 
ture; and he became in a few years the most learned, 
elegant, and polite gentleman of his age and country. 
Philosophy and divinity were his favorite studies: and 
lest the affairs of the world should prevent him from 
becoming a proficient in them, he surrendered his birth- 
right to his younger brethren, and travelled to Paris, 
in order to cultivate his mind under that great professor, 
"William des Champeaux. The eminence he attained as 
a professor, while it procured him the esteem of the ra- 
tional and discerning, excited the envy of his rivals. But. 
beside his uncommon merit as a scholar, he possessed 
a greatness of soul which nothing could subdue. He 
looked upon riches and grandeur with contempt ; and 
his only ambition was to render his name famous 
among learned men, and to acquire the reputation of 
the greatest doctor of his age. But when he had at- 
tained his seven and twentieth year of age, all his phi- 
losophy could not guard him against the shafts of love. 
Not far from the place where Abelard read his lectures, 
lived a canon of the church of Notre Dame, named 
Fulbert, whose niece, the clebrated Eloisa, had been 
educated under his own eye with the greatest care and 
attention. Her person was well proportioned, her fea- 
tures regular, her eyes sparkling, her lips vermilion 
and well formed, her complexion animated, her air fine, 
and her aspect sweet and agreeable. She possessed a 
surprising quickness of wit. an incredible memory, and 
a considerable share of learning, joined with great hu- 
mility and tenderness of disposition: and all these ac- 
complishments were attended with something so grace- 
ful and moving, that it was impossible for "those who 
saw her not to love her. The eye of Abelard was 
charmed, and his whole soul intoxicated in the passion 
of love, the moment he beheld and conversed with 
this extraordinary woman ; and he laid aside all other 
engagements to attend to his passion. He was deaf 
to the calls both reason and philosophy, and thought of 
nothing but her company and conversation. An oppor- 
tunity, fortunate for his love, but fatal to his happiness, 
soon occurred. Fulbert, whose affection for his niece 
was unbounded, willing to improve to the highest de- 
gree the excellency of those talents which nature had 



244 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

so bountifully bestowed on her, engaged Abelard as 
her preceptor, and received him in that character into 
his house. A mutual passion strongly infused itself 
into the hearts of both pupil and preceptor. She con- 
sented to become his mistress, but, for a long time, re- 
fused to become his wife. The secret of their loves 
could not remain long concealed from the eyes of Ful- 
bert, and the lover was dismissed from his house: but 
Eloisa flew with rapture to his arms, and was placed 
under the protection of his sister, where she remained ; 
until, from the cruel vengeance which her uncle exer- 
cised on the unfortunate Abelard, she was induced at 
his request to enter into the convent of Argenteuil, and 
he into the monastery of St. Gildas. In this cloister, 
the base of which was washed by the waves of a sea 
less turbulent than the passions which disturbed his 
soul, the unfortunate Abelard, endeavored by the exer- 
cises of religion and study, to obliterate all remem- 
brance of his love; but his virtue was too feeble for the 
great attempt. A course of many years, however, had 
passed in penitence and mortification, without any com- 
munication between them, and further time might pos- 
sibly have calmed in a still greater degree the violence 
of their feelings ; but a letter which Abelard wrote to 
his friend Philintus, in order to comfort him under 
some affliction which had befallen him, in which he 
related his affection for Eloisa with great tenderness, 
fell into her hands, and induced her to break through 
the silence which had so long prevailed, by writing 
to him a letter, the contents of which revived in his 
mind all the former furies of his passion. Time, ab- 
sence, solitude, and prayer, had in no degree diminished 
the amiable tenderness of the still lovely Eloisa, or aug- 
mented the fortitude of the unfortunate Abelard. The 
composing influence of religion seems to have made 
an earlier impression upon his feelings than it did upon 
those of Eloisa; but he continually counteracted its ef- 
fects, by comparing his former felicity with his present 
torments; and he answered Eloisa's letter, not as a 
moral preceptor, or holy confessor, but as a still fond 
and adoring lover ; as a man whose wounded feelings 
were in some degree alleviated by a recollection of his 
former joys ; and who could only console the sorrows 
of his mistress, by avowing an equal tenderness, and 
confessing the anguish with which their separation 
rent his souL The walls of Paraclete resounded his 
sighs less frequently, and re-echoed less fervently with 



ON THE PASSIONS. 245 

his sorrows, than those of St. Gildas ; for his continued 
solitude, so far from affording him relief, had adminis- 
tered an aggravating medicine to his disease ; and af- 
forded that vulturer^rief, greater leisure to tear and 
prey upon his disoraered heart. "Religion," says he, 
"commands me to pursue virtue since 1 have nothing 
to hope for from love ; but love still asserts its dominion 
in my fancy, and entertains itself with past pleasures: 
memory supplies the place of a mistress. Piety and 
duty are not always the fruits of retirement. Even 
in deserts, when the dew of heaven lalls not on us, 
we love what we ought no longer to love. The pas- 
sions, stirred up by solitude, fill those regions of death 
and silence ; and it is very seldom that what ought to 
be is truly followed there, and that God only is loved 
and served." 

The letters of Eloisa were soft, gentle, and endear- 
ing ; but they breathed the warmest language of ten- 
derness and unconquerable passion. "I have your 
picture," says she, "in my room. I never pass by it 
without stopping to look at it ; and yet when you were 
present with me, I scarce even cast my eyes upon it. 
If a picture, which is but a mute representation of an ob- 
ject, can give such pleasure, what cannot letters inspire ? 
Letters have souls % they have in them all that force 
which expresses the transports of the heart : they have 
all the fire of our passions ; they can raise them as 
much as if the persons themselves were present ; they 
have all the softness and delicacy of speech, and some- 
times a boldness r of expression even beyond it. We 
may write to each other; so innocent a pleasure is not 
forbidden us. Let us not lose, through negligence, the 
only happiness which is left to us, and the only one 
perhaps, which the malice of our enemies can never 
ravish from us. I shall read that you are my husband, 
and you shall see me address you as a wife. In spite 
of all your misfortunes, you may be what you please in 
your letters. Letters were first invented for comfort- 
ing such solitary wretches as myself. Having lost the 
pleasure of seeing you, I shall compensate this loss by 
the satisfaction I shall find in your writings : there 1 
shall read your most secret thoughts: I shall carry 
them always about me ; I shall kiss them every mo- 
ment. If you can be capable of jealousy, let it be for 
the fond curiosity I shall bestow on your letters, and 
envy only the happiness of those rivals. That writing 
may be no trouble to you, write always to me carelessly 
21* 



246 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

and without study : I had rather read the dictates of 
the heart than of the brain. I cannot live, if you do 
not tell me you always love me. You cannot but re- 
member, (for what do not lovers remember?) with 
what pleasure I have passed whole days in hearing you 
discourse ; how, when you was absent, I shut myself up 
from every one to write to you ; how uneasy 1 was till 
my letter had come to your hands ; what artful manage- 
ment was required to engage confidants. This detail, 
perhaps, surprises you, and you are in pain for what 
will follow : but I am no longer ashamed that my pas- 
sion has had no bounds for you ; for I have done 
more than all this: I have hated myself that I might 
love you. I came hither to ruin myself in a perpetual 
imprisonment, that I might make you live quiet and 
easy. Nothing but virtue, joined to a love perfectly 
disengaged from the commerce of the senses, could 
have produced such effects. Vice never inspires any 
thing like this. How did I deceive myself with the 
hopes that you would be wholly mine when I took the 
veil, and engaged myself to live for ever under your 
laws ! For, in being professed, I vowed no more than 
to be yours only ; and I obliged myself voluntarily to 
a confinement in which you denied to place me. Death 
only can make me leave the place where you have fixed 
me ; and then too my ashes shall rest here, and wait 
for yours, in order to show my obedience and devoted- 
ness to you to the latest moment possible." 

Abelard, while he strove, in his reply, to adhere to the 
dictates of reason, betrayed the lurkimr tenderness of 
his heart. " Deliver yourself, Eloisa," says he. " from 
the shameful remains of a passion which has taken too 
deep root. Remember that the least thought for any 
other than God is an adultery. If you could see me 
here, pale, meagre, melancholy, surrounded by a band 
of persecuting monks, who feel my reputation for 
learning as a reproach of their stupidity and ignorance, 
my emaciated figure as a slander on their gross ana 
sensual corpulency, and my prayers as an example for 
their reformation, what w r ould you say to the unman- 
ly sighs, and unavailing tears, by which they are de- 
ceived? Alas! lam bowed down by the oppressive 
weight of love, rather than contrition for past offences. 
Oh, my Eloisa, pity me, and endeavor to free my labor- 
ing soul from its captivity ! If your vocation be, as 
you say, my wish, deprive me not of the merit of it 
by your continual inquietudes: tell me that you will 



ON THE PASLIONS. 24? 

honor the habit which covers you by an inward retire- 
ment. Fear God that you may be delivered from your 
frailties. Love him, if you would advance in virtue. 
Be not uneasy in the cloister, for it is the dwelling of 
saints; embrace your bands, they are the chains of 
Jesus, and he will lighten them, and bear with you, if 
you bear them with humility and repentance. Consider 
me no more, I entreat you, as a founder, or as a person 
in any way deserving your esteem ; for your encomiums 
do but ill agree with the multiplying weakness of my 
heart. I am a miserable sinner, prostrate before my 
Judge ; and when the rays of grace break on my 
troubled soul, I press the earth with my lips, and min- 
gle my sighs and tears in the dust. Couldest thou sur- 
vey thy wretched lover thus lost and forlorn, thou 
wouldest no longer solicit his affection. The tenderness 
of thy heart would not permit thee to interpose an 
earthly passion, which can only tend to deprive him of 
all hopes of heavenly grace and future comfort. Thou 
wouldest not wish to be the object of sighs and tears, 
which ought to be directed to God alone. Canst thou, 
my Eloisa, become the confederate of my evil genius, 
and be the instrument to promote sin's yet unfinished 
conquest ? What, alas ! couldest thou not achieve with 
a heart, the weaknesses of which you so well know ? 
But, oh ! let me conjure you, by all the sacred ties, to 
forget for ever the wretched Abelard, and thereby con- 
tribute to his salvation. Let me entreat you by our for- 
mer joys, and by our now common misfortunes, not to 
abet my destruction. The highest affection you can 
now show me, is to hide your tenderness from my view 
and to renounce me for ever. Oh, Eloisa ! be devoted 
to God alone ; for I here release you from all engage- 
ments to me." 

The conflict between love and religion tore the soul 
of Eloisa with pangs far more violent and destructive. 
There is scarcely a line of her reply to Abelard, that 
does not show the dangerous influence which solitude 
had given to the concealed, but unsmothered, passion 
that glowed within her breast. " Veiled as I am," she 
exclaims, "behold in what a disorder you have plunged 
me ! How difficult it is to fight always for duty against 
inclination ! I know the obligation which this sacred veil 
has imposed on me ; but feel more strongly the power 
which a long and habitual passion has gained over my 
heart. I am the victim of almighty love : my passion 
troubles my mind, and disorders my senses. My soul 



248 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

is sometimes influenced by the sentiments of piety 
which my reflections inspire, but the next moment I 
yield myself up to the tenderness of my feelings, and 
to the suggestions of my affection. My imagination 
riots with wild excursion in the scenes of past delights. 
I disclose to you one moment what I would not have 
told you a moment before. I resolve no longer to love 
you ; I consider the solemnity of the vow I have made, 
and the awful ness of the veil I have taken ; but there 
arises, unexpectedly, from the bottom of my heart, a 
passion which triumphs over all these notions, and, 
while it darkens my reason, destroys my devotion. 
You reign in all the close and inward retreats of my 
soul ; and I know not how nor where to attack you 
with any prospect of success. When I endeavor to 
break the chains which bind me so closely to you, I 
only deceive myself, and all my efforts serve only to 
confirm my captivity, and to rivet our hearts more 
firmly to each other. Oh ! for pity's sake, comply with 
my request ; and endeavor by this means^ to make me 
renounce my desires, by showing me the obligation 
I am under to renounce you. If you are still a lover, 
or a father, oh ! help a mistress, and give comfort to 
the distraction of an afflicted child. Surely these dear 
and tender names will excite the emotion either of pity 
or of love. Gratify my request ; only continue to write 
to me, and I shall continue to perform the hard duties 
of my station without profaning that character which 
my love for you induced me to assume. Under your 
advice and admonition I shall willingly humble myself, 
and submit with penitence and resignation to the won- 
derful providence of God, who does all things for our 
sanctification ; who, by his grace purifies all that is vi- 
cious and corrupt in our natures ; and, by the incon- 
ceivable riches of his mercy, draws us to himself against 
our wishes, and by degrees opens our eyes to discern 
the greatness of that bounty which at first we are in- 
capable of understanding. Virtue is too amiable not to 
be embraced when you reveal her charms, and vice too « 
hideous not to be avoided when you show her defor- 
mities. When you are pleased, every thing seems 
lovely to me. Nothing is frightful or' difficult when 
you are by. I am only weak when I am alone, and un- 
supported by you; and therefore it depends on you 
alone that I may be such as you desire. Oh ! that you 
had not so powerful an influence over all my soul ! It 
is your fears, surely, that make you thus deaf to my 



ON THE PASSIONS. 249 

entreaties, and negligent of my desires: but what is 
there for you to fear ? When we lived happily together 
you might have doubted whether it was pleasure or af- 
fection that united me to you ; but the place from which, 
I now indite my lamentations must have removed that 
idea, if it ever could find a place in your mind. Even 
within these gloomy walls, my heart springs toward 
you with more affection than it felt, if possiule, in the 
gay and glittering world. Had pleasure been my 
guide, the world would have been the theatre of my 
joys. Two and twenty years only of my life had worn 
away, when the lover on whom my soul doated was 
cruelly torn from my arms ; and at that age female 
charms are not generally despised ; but, instead of seek- 
ing to indulge the pleasures of youth, your Eloisa, 
when deprived of thee, renounced the world, suppress- 
ed the emotions of sense, at a time when the pulses 
beat with the warmest ardor, and buried herself within 
the cold and cheerless region of the cloister. To you 
she consecrated the flower of her charms ; to you sh i 
now devotes the poor remains of faded beauty ; and 
dedicates to heaven and to you, her tedious days and 
widowed nights in solitude and sorrow." 

The passion, alas! which Eloisa thus fondly nourish- 
ed in her bosom, like an adder, to goad and sting her 
peace of mind, was very little of a spiritual nature; 
and the walls of Paraclete only re-echoed more fervent 
sighs than she had before breathed, and witnessed a 
more abundant flow of tears than she had shed in the 
cells of Argenteuil, over the memory of departed joys 
with her beloved Abelard. Her letters, indeed, show 
with what toilsome but ineffectual anxiety she endea- 
vored to chasten her mind, and support her fainting 
virtue, as well by her own reasoning and reflection, as 
by his counsels and exhortations ; but the passion had 
tenaciously rooted itself at the very bottom of her 
heart ; and it was not until the close of life that she 
was able to repress the transports of her imagination, 
and subdue the wild sallies of her fond and fertile 
fancy. Personally separated from each other, she in- 
dulged a notion that her love could not be otherwise 
than pure and spiritual ; but there are many parts of 
letters which show how much she was deceived by this 
idea; for in all the fancied chastity of their tender and 
too ardent loves, 

" Back thro' the pleasing maze of sense she ran, 
" And fell within ;he slave of love and man," 



250 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

The wild and extravagant excesses to which the fan- 
cy and the feelings of Eloisa were carried, was not oc- 
casioned merely by the warm impulses of unchecked 
nature ; but were forced, to the injury of virtue, and 
the distraction of reason, by the rank hot bed^f monas- 
tic solitude. The story of these celebrated lovers, 
when calmly examined, and properly understood^ 
proves how dangerous it is to recede entirely from the 
pleasures and occupations of social life, and how deeply 
the imagination may be corrupted, and the passions in- 
flamed, during a splenetic^and ill-prepared retirement 
from the w T orld. The frenzies which follow disappoint- 
ed love, are of all others the most likely to settle into 
habits of the deepest melancholy. The finest sensibi- 
lities of the heart, the purest tenderness of the soul, 
when joined with a warm constitution, and an ardent 
imagination, experience from interruption and control 
the highest possible state of exasperation. Solitude 
confirms the feelings such a situation creates ; and the 
passions and inclinations of a person laboring under 
such impressions are more likely to be corrupted and 
inflamed by the leisure of retirement, than they would 
be even by engaging in all the lazy opulence and wan- 
ton plenty of a debauched metropolis. * 

The affection which Petrarch entertained for Laura 
was refined, elevated, and virtuous, and differed, in al- 
most every ingredient of it, from the luxurious fond- 
ness of the unfortunate Eloisa; but circumstances se- 
parated him from the beloved object; and he labored 
during many years of his life, under the oppression of 
that grievous melancholy* which disappointment uni- 
formly inflicts. He first beheld her as she was going 
to the church of the monastery of St. Claire. She 
was dressed in green, and her gown was embroidered 
with violets. Her face, her air, her gait, appeared some- 
thing more than mortal. He person was delicate, her 
eyes tender and sparkling, and her eyebrows black as 
ebony. Golden locks waved over her shoulders whiter 
than snow, and the ringlets were woven by the fingers 
of love. Her neck was well formed, and her complex- 
ion animated by the tints of nature, which art vainly 
attempts to imitate. When she opened her mouth, 
you perceived the beauty of pearls, and the sweetness 
of roses. She was full of graces. Nothing was so soft 
as her looks, so modest as her carriage, so touching as 
the sound of her voice. An air of gayety and tender- 
ness breathed around her; but so pure and happily tern- 



ON THE PASSIONS. 251 

pered, as to inspire every beholder with the sentiments 
of virtue; for she was chaste as the spangled dewdrop 
on the thorn. Such was the description given of this 
divine creature by her enslaved lover. But, unfortu- 
nately for his happiness, she was at this time married 
to Hugues de Sade, whose family was originally of 
Avignon, and held the first offices there. Notwith- 
standing the sufferings he underwent from the natural 
agitation of an affection so tender as that which now 
engrossed his soul, he owns that Laura behaved to 
him with kindness so long as he concealed his passion; 
but when she discovered that he was captivated with 
her charms, she treated him with great severity ; avoid- 
ing every place it was likely he Vould frequent, and 
concealing her face under a large veil whenever they 
accidentally met. The whole soul of Petrarch was 
overthrown by this disastrous passion ; and he felt all 
the visitation of unfortunate love as grievously as if 
it had been founded upon less virtuous principles. He 
endeavored to calm and tranquillize the troubles of his 
breast by retiring to the celebrated solitude of Vaucluse, 
a place in which nature delighted to appear under a 
form the most singular and romantic; "But, alas!" 
says he, "1 knew not what I was doing. The 
resource was ill suited to the safety 1 sought. Soli- 
tude was incapable of mitigating the severity of 
my sorrows. The .griefs that hung around my 
heart, consumed me like a devouring flame. I had 
no means of flying from their attacks. I was alone, 
without consolation, and in the deepest distress, with- 
out even the counsel of a friend to assist me. Melan- 
choly and despair shot their poisoned arrows against 
my defenceless breast, and I filled the unsoothing and 
romantic vale with my sighs and lamentations. The 
muse indeed, conveyed my sufferings to the world; 
but while the poet was praissd, the unhappy lover re- 
mained unpitied and forlorn." » 

The love which inspired the lays of Petrarch was a 
pure and perfect passion ol the heart ; and his suffer- 
ings were rendered peculiarly poignant by a melan- 
choly sense of the impossibility of^ever being united 
with the object of it ; but the love of Abelard and 
Eloisa was a furious heat of wild desire. This pas- 
sion flows clear or muddied, peaceful or violent, in pro- 
portion to the sources from which it springs. When 
it arises from pure and unpolluted sources, its stream 
is clear, peaceful, and surrounded with delights : bur 



252 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

when its source is foul, and its course improperly di- 
rected, it foams and rages, overswells its banks, and de- 
stroys thescenes which nature intended it to fertilize 
and adorn. The different effects produced by the dif- 
ferent kinds of this powerful passion, have, on observing 
how differently the character of the same person ap- 
pears when influenced by the one or the other of them, 
given rise to an idea that the human species are possess- 
ed of two souls j the one leading to vice, and the other 
conducting to virtue. A celebrated philosopher has il- 
lustrated this notion by the following story: 

A virtuous young prince, of an heroic soul, capable 
of love and friendship, made war upon a tyrant, who 
was in every respect his reverse. It was the happiness 
of our prince to be as great a conqueror by his clemen- 
cy and bounty, as by his arms and military virtue. 
Already he had won over to his party several potentates 
and princes, who had before been subject to the tyrant 
Among those who still adhered to the enemy there was 
a prince, who, having all the advantages of person and 
merit, had lately been made happy in the possession and 
mutual love of the most beautiful princess in the world. 
It happened that the occasion of the war called the new 
married prince to a distance from his beloved princess. 
He left her secure as he thought, in a strong castle, far 
within the country t but, in his absence, the place was 
taken by surprise, and the princess brought a captive to 
the quarters of the heroic prince. There was in the 
camp a young nobleman the favorite of the prince; one 
who had been educated with him, and was still treated 
by him with perfect familiarity. Him he immediately 
sent for, and with strict injunctions, committed the 
captive princess to his charge ; resolving she should be 
treated with that respect which was due to her rank 
and merit. It was the same young lord who had dis- 
covered her disguised amons: the prisoners, and learnt 
her story ; the particulars of which he now related to 
the prince. He spoke in ecstacy on this occasion ; tell- 
ing the prince how beautiful she appeared even in the 
midst of sorrow ; and though disguised under the 
meanest habit, yet how distinguished by her air and 
manner from every other beauty of her sex. But what 
appeared strange to our young nobleman was, that the 
prince, during this whole relation, discovered not the 
least intention of seeing the lady, or satisfying that cu- 
riosity which seemed so natural on such an occasion. 
He pressed him, but without success. " Not see her, 



ON THE PASSTONS. 253 

sirP' said he wondering, "when she is so much hand- 
somer than any woman you have yet seen!" "For 
that very reason," replied the prince, " I would rather 
decline the interview ; for should I, upon this bare re- 
port of her beauty, be so charmed as to make the first 
visit at this urgent time of business, I may upon sight, 
with better reason, be induced, perhaps, to visit her 
when I am more at leisure ; and so again and again, 
until at last I may have no leisure left for my affairs." 
u Would you, sir, persuade me then," said the young 
nobleman, smiling, "that a fair face can have such 
power as to force the will itself, and constrain a man 
in any respect to act contrary to what he thinks becom- 
ing him? Are we to hearken to the poets, in what 
they tell us of that incendiary ..love and his irresistible 
flames? A real flame, we see, burns all alike; but 
that imaginary one of beauty hurts only those that are 
consenting. It affects no otherwise than as we our- 
selves are pleased to allow it. In many cases we ab- 
solutely command it, as when relation and consan- 
guinity are in the nearest degree. Authority and law 
we see can master it ; but it would be vain, as well as 
unjust, for any law to intermeddle or prescribe, was 
not the case voluntary, and our will entirely free." 
" How comes it then," replied the prince, "that if we 
are thus masters of our choice, and free at first to ad- 
mire and love where we approve, we cannot afterward 
as well cease to love whenever we see cause? This lat- 
ter liberty you will hardly defend ; for I doubt not you 
have heard of many who, though they were used to set 
the highest value on liberty before they loved, yet, 
afterward, were necessitated to serve in the most ab- 
iect manner, finding themselves constrained, and bound 
by a stronger chain than any of iron or 01 adamant." 
"Such wretches," replied the youth, "I have often 
heard complain, who, if you will believe them, are 
wretched indeed, without means or power to help 
themselves. You may hear them in the same manner 
complain grievously of life itself; but though there are 
doors enough at which to go out of life, they find it 
convenient to keep still where they are. They are the 
very same pretenders who, through this plea of irresis- 
tible necessity, make bold with what is another's, and 
attempt, unlawful beds ; but the law, I perceive, makes 
bold with them in its turn, as with other invaders of 
property. Neither is it your custom, sir, to pardon such 
offences. So that beauty itself, you must allow, is in . 
22 



254 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

nocent and harmless, and cannot compel any one to do 
amiss. The debauched compel themselves, and unjust- 
ly charge their guilt on love. They who are honest 
and just can admire and love whatever is beautiful, 
without offering at any thing beyond what is allowed. 
Plow then is it possible, sir, that one of your virtue 
should be in pain on any such account, or fear such a 
temptation ? You see, sir, I am sound and whole after 
having beheld the princess. I have conversed with 
her; I have admired her in the highest degree; yet I 
am myself still, and in my duty, and shall be ever in the 
same manner at your command." " It is well," replied 
the prince ; u keep yourself so: be ever the same man, 
and look to your fair charge carefully, as becomes you ; 
for it may so happen, in the present situation of the 
war that this beautiful captive may stand us in good 
stead." The young nobleman then departed to execute 
his commission ; and immediately took such care of 
the captive princess that she seemed as perfectly obeyed, 
and had every thing which belonged to her in as great 
splendor as in her own principality, and in the height 
of her fortune. He found her in every respect deserv- 
ing, and saw in her a generosity of soul exceeding 
even her other charms. His studies to oblige her ana 
to soften her distress, made her, in return, desirous to ex- 
press her gratitude. He soon discovered the feelings 
of her mind; for she showed, on every occasion, a real 
concern for his interest ; and when he happened to fall 
ill, she took such tender care of him herself, and by 
her servants, that he seemed to owe his recovery en- 
tirely to her friendship. From these beginnings, insen- 
sibly, and by natural degrees, as may easily be conceived, 
the youth fell desperately in love. At first he offered 
not to make the least mention of his passion to the 
princess, for he scarce dared believe it himself. But 
time, and the increasing ardor of his passion, subdued 
his fears, and she received his declaration with an un- 
affected trouble, and real concern. She reasoned with 
him as a friend, and endeavored to persuade him to sub- 
due so improper and extravagant a flame. But in a short 
time he became outrageous, and talked to her of force. 
The princess was alarmed by his audacity, and imme- 
diately sent to the prince to implore his protection. 
The prince received the information with the appear- 
ance of more than ordinary attention ; sent instantly 
for one of his first ministers, and directed him to re- 
turn with the princess' domestic, and tell the young no- 



ON THE PASSIONS. 255 

bleman that force was not to be used to such a lady • 
but that he might use persuasion, if he thought it was 
proper so to do. The minister, who was of course the 
inveterate enemy of his prince's favorite, aggravated 
the message, inveighed publicly against the young no- 
bleman for the grossness of his misconduct, and even 
reproached him to his face with having been a traitor 
to the confidence of his prince, and a disgrace to his 
nation. The minister, in short, conveyed the message 
of his master in such virulent and angry terms, that 
the youth looked on his case as desperate ; fell into the 
deepest melancholy ; and prepared himself for that fate 
which he was conscious he well deserved. While he 
was thus impressed with a sense of his misconduct, 
and the danger to which it had exposed him, the prince 
commanded him to attend a private audience. The 
youth entered the closet of the prince covered with the 
deepest confusion. "I find," said he, u that I am now 
become dreadful to you indeed, since you can neither 
see me without shame, nor imagine me to be without 
resentment. But away with all these thoughts from 
this time forward ! I know how much you have suffer- 
ed on this occasion. I know the power of love ; and 
am no otherwise safe myself, than by keeping out of 
the way of beauty. I alone am to blame; for it was I 
who unhappily matched you with that unequal adver- 
sary ; who gave you that impracticable task ; who impo- 
sed on you that hard adventure, which no one yet was 
ever strong enough to accomplish. 5 ' " In this, sir, as in 
all else," replied fhe youth, "you express that goodness 
which is so natural to you. You have compassion, 
and can allow for human frailties ; but the rest of man- 
kind will never cease to upbraid me : nor shall I ever be 
forgiven, even were I able ever to forgive myself. I am 
reproached by my nearest friends ; and I must be odi- 
ous to all mankind wherever I am known. The least 
punishment I can think due to me is banishment for 
ever from your presence : for I am no longer worthy 
of being called your friend." " You must not think of 
banishing yourself for ever," replied the prince: "but 
trust me, if you will retire only for a while, I shall so 
order matters, that you shall return with the applause 
even of those who are now your enemies, when they 
find what a considerable service you shall have render- 
ed both to them and me." Such a hint was sufficient 
to revive the spirits of the despairing youth. He was 
transported to think that his misfortunes could be turned 



E 



256 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

in any way to the advantage of his prince. He entered 
with joy into the scheme his royal friend had contrived 
for the purpose of restoring him to his former fame 
and happiness, and appeared eager to depart and exe- 
cute the directions that were given to him. " Can you 
then," said the prince, " resolve to quit the charming 

rincess?" "O, sir," replied the youth, with tears in 
__is eyes, "I am now well satisfied that I have in reality 
within me two distinct separate souls. This lesson of 
philosophy I have learnt from that villanous sophister 
love; for it is impossible to believe that, having one 
and the same soul, it should be actually both good and 
bad ; passionate for virtue and vice, desirous of con- 
traries. No ; there must of necessity be two : and when 
the good soul prevails, we are happy ; but when the bad 
prevails, we are miserable. Such was my case. Lately 
the ill soul was wholly master, and I was miserable : 
but now the good prevails, by your assistance, and I 
am plainly a new creature, with quite another appre- 
hension, another reason, and another will." 

He who would be master of his appetites, must not 
only avoid temptation, but vigilantly restrain the earli- 
est shoots of fancy, and destroy the first blooms of a 
warm imagination. 1 It is the very nature of confidence 
to be always in danger, To permit the irmTd to riot in 
scenes of fancied delights, under an idea that reason 
will be able to extinguish the flames of desire, is to 
nurse and foster the sensual appetites, which, when 
guided by the cool and temperate voice of nature alone, 
are seldom raised to an improper height. The natural 
current, of the blood, even in the warmest constitutions, 
and under the most, torrid zone, would keep an even,* 
temperate course, were it not accelerated by such incen- 
tives. Youth indeed despises this species of reasoning, 
and imputes it to the sickness of satiety^, or the coldness 
of old age. I have, however, in general, observed, 
that those who seek these incitements to what they im- 
properly call love, possess a rayless eye, a hollow cheek, 
a palsied hand, a pallid countenance; and these symp- 
toms of faded splendour and withered strength, un- 
questionably prove that they have not consulted nature 
in their gay pursuits ; for nature has not planted any 
propensities in the human frame which lead it to early 
ruin, or premature decay.* The blame which is so un- 
justly thrown upon temperament and constitution, be- 
longs to the indulgence of false and clamorous pas* 



ON THE PASSIONS. 257 

sions, those which sensual fancies, and lascivious ideas 
have raised to the destruction of chastity and health. 

Monastic institutions produce, in this respect, incalcu- 
lable mischiefs. The sexes, whom these religious pri- 
sons seclude from the free and unconfined intercourses 
of society, suffer their imaginations to riot without re- 
straint or discipline, in proportion to the violence im- 
posed on their actions. A thousand boyish fancies, 
eager appetites and warm desires, are perpetually play- 
ing truant, and the chastity of the soul is corrupted. 
To effect the conquest of the passion of love, it is ab- 
solutely necessary that the evil suggestions of the ima- 
gination should be first silenced ; and he who succeeds 
in quelling the insurrections of that turbulent inmate, 
or in quieting its commotions, achieves an enterprise at 
once difficult and glorious. The holy Jerome checked 
the progress of many disorderly passions Vhich he 
found rising in his breast ; but the passion of love re- 
sisted all his opposition, and followed him, with in- 
creasing fury, even into the frightful ^cavern to which 
he retired to implore, in humble prayer and solitary ab- 
straction, the mercies of his God. The solitude, how- 
ever remote, to which the demon of sensuality # is ad- 
mitted, is soon crowded with legions of tormenting 
fiends. John, the anchorite of the deserts of Thebais, 
wisely addressed his solitarfrjrethren, " If there be any 
among you who in his pride, conceives that he has en- 
tirely renounced the devil and all his works, he should 
learn that it is not sufficient to have done this merely 
by his lips, by having resigned his worldly dignities, 
and by dividing his possessions among the poor ; for, 
unless he has also abandoned his sensualjippetit.es, his 
salvation cannot be secure. It is only by purifying our 
bosoms from the pernicious influence of this master pas- 
sion, that we can ever hope to counteract the machina- 
tions of satan, and to guard our hearts from his dan- 
gerous practices. Sin always introduces itself under 
the guidance of some^u'ilty passion ; some fond de- 
sire ; some pleasing fticlmation, which we willingly in- 
dulge, and by that means suffer the enemy of peace to 
establish his unruly dominion in our souls. Then tran- 
quillity and real happiness^quit their abode in our hearts, 
and all is uproar and anarchy within. This must be 
the fate of all who permit an evil spirit to seat itself on 
the throne of their hearts, and to scatter around the 
poisonous seeds of wild desire and vicious inclinations." 
But love once indulged in bright and rapturous fancies, 
22* 



258 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

fills the mind with such high and transporting ideas of 
supreme bliss, that the powers of reason are seldom, if 
ever, capable of making head against its fascinations. 
The hermit and the monk, who, from tfie nature of 
their situations, cannot taste its real charms, ought, if 
it were for that reason alone, to stifle at their birth the 
earliest emotions of this inspiring passion ; for the in- 
dulgence of it must prove fatal to the virtue, and of 
course destructive to the peace of every recluse. The 
impossibility that such characters can listen with any 
propriety to the dictates of this delightful passion, shows 
id the strongest manner the impolicy and absurdity of 
those institutions, on the members of which celibacy is 
enjoined. The happiness of every individual, as well 
as the civil and religious interests of society, are best 
promoted by inducing the endearments of sense to im- 
prove the sympathies, tenderness, and affections of the 
human heart. But these blessings are denied to the 
solitary fanatic, who is condemned to endure the sup- 
pression of his passions, and prevented from indulging 
without endangering his principles, both the desires of 
sense, and thellreams of fancy. He cannot form that 
delightful union of the sexes, where sentiments of ad- 
miration are increased by prospects of personal advan- 
tage ; where private enjoyment arises from a sense of 
mutual merit ; and the warmest beams of love are 
tempered by the refreshing gales of friendship. The 
grosser parts of this innate and glowing passion can 
alone occupy his fancy; and the sentiments it instils, 
instead of refining his desires, and meliorating his af- 
fections, tend, through the operation of his soul and cor- 
rupted imagination, to render his appetites still more 
depraved, lie is as ignorant of its benefits as he is of 
its chaste and dignified pleasures; and totally unac- 
quainted with its fine sensibilities, and varied emotions, 
his bosom burns with the most violent, rage ; his mind 
wallows in images of sensuality; and his temper frets 
itself, by unjustly accusing the tempter as the author 
of his misery. If the luxurious cogitations of such a 
character were dissipated by the pleasures and pursuits 
of busy life; if the violence of his passions were check- 
ed by laborious exercises; and if habits of rational 
study enabled him to vary the uniformity of retire- 
ment, and to substitute the excursions of mental cu- 
riosity, and moral reflections, instead of that perpetual 
recurrence of animal desire by which he is infected, 
the danger we have described woidd certainly be re- 



ON THE PASSIONS. 259 

duced; but without such aids, his self-denials, his 
penitence, his prayers, and all the austere disci- 
pline of the "monkish and ascetic school, will be inef- 
fectual. Celibacy, indeed, instead of assisting, as their 
disciples mistakingly conceive, to clear the soul from 
its earthly impurities, and to raise it to divine bright- 
ness and sublimity, drags it down to the basest appe- 
tites and lowest desires. But matrimony, or that suita- 
able and appropriate union of the sexes which prevails 
under different circumstances, according to the manner 
and custom of different societies, leads, when properly 
formed, to the highest goal of human bliss. 

The mischievous effects which the celibacy and soli- 
tude of monastic institutions produce on that passion 
which arises so spontaneously between the sexes in the 
human heart, will appear unavoidable, when it is con- 
sidered how absurdly the founders of these religious 
retreats have frequently endeavored to guard against 
the danger. The partitions which divide virtues from 
their opposite vices are so slender and conjoined, that 
we scarcely reach the limits of the one before we enter 
to a certain degree, the confines of the other. How ri- 
diculous, therefore, is it to conceive, that frequent me- 
ditation on forbidden pleasures, should be at all likely 
to eradicate impure ideas from the mind. And yet 
the Egyptian monastics were enjoined to have 
these rules constantly in their contemplation : first, 
that their bosoms must remain unagitated by the 
thoughts of love ; that they should never permit their 
fancies to loiter on voluptuous images ; that female 
beauty, in its fairest form, and most glowing charms, 
should be incapable of exciting in their hearts the least 
sensation : and that, even during the hours of sleep, 
their minds should continue untainted by such impure 
affections. The chastity of these solitary beings was, 
on some occasions, actually tried by experiment ; but 
the consequences which resulted from such irrational dis- 
cipline, were directly the reverse of those it was intended 
to produce. The imagination was vitiated, and the in- 
clination rendered so corrupt, that neither the examples 
nor the precepts of the more enlightened ages were 
able to correct their manners, or reclaim them from 
the machinations of the unclean spirit. Number- 
less indeed, and horrid, are the instances recorded by" 
Ruffinus, and other writers, of the perversions of all 
sense and reason, of all delicacy and refinement, of all 
virtue and true holiness, which prevailed in the ascetic 



260 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

solitudes of every description, while the nuptial state 
was held incompatible with the duties of religion, and 
the sexes separated from each other, that they might 
more piously, and with less interruption, follow its dic- 
tates. Some of the fathers of the church defined fe- 
male celibacy to be the only means of living a chaste 
and godly life amidst the impurities of a sinful world, 
and regaining, during the perdition of gross mortality^ 
the resemblance of the soul's celestial origin. The 
holy, happy tie of matrimony they considered as a cloak 
to the indulgence of impure desires, and launched their 
anathemas against it as an hateful institution. Even 
the eloquent and pious Chrysostom says, u that a double 
purpose was intended to be attained by the institution 
of marriage, viz. the propagation of the species, and 
the gratification of sexual affection ; but that, as popula- 
tion had sufficiently covered the face of the earth, the 
first had become no longer necessary ; and that it was 
the duty of the sexes rather to conquer their affections 
by abstinence and prayer, than indulge them under so 
thin a disguise." The human soul, he admits, must, 
in a state of celibacy, subsist under a perpetual warfare 
and the faculties be in continual ferment ; but contends, 
that piety exists in proportion to the difficulties which 
the sufferer surmounts. The holy fathers seem, from 
the whole strain of their exhortations and reasonings, to 
have considered female chastity in a very serious point 
of view ; and there can be no doubt but that it is the 
brightest jewel and most becoming ornament of the 
sex ; but these reverend teachers were so blinded by 
their zeal, that they lost all sight of nature, and mis- 
takingly conceived that the Great Creator had planted 
affections in our hearts, and oassions in our breasts, 
only to try our tempers in suppressing their turbulence, 
rather than promote our happiness, and to answer the 
ends of his creation, by a sober and rational indulgence 
of them. 

But nature will not be argued out of her rights; and 
these absurd doctrines introduced into every monastic 
institution throughout Europe a private intercourse, hos* 
tile, from its evil example to the interests both of mo- 
rality and religion. The nuns of the convent of 
Argenteuil, who chose Eloisa for their Abbess, were 
in all probability, influenced in their choice by the re- 
collections of her former frailty, and their knowledge 
of the present ruling passion of her heart; they meant 
fcp provide the abbey with a superior who, if she were 



ON THE PASSIONS. 261 

not inclined to promote, would feel no disposition to 
interrupt their intrigues. The fact certainly was, that 
during the time Eloisa presided over the convent, the 
conduct of the nuns was so extremely licentious, that 
Sugger, abbot of St. Dennis, complained of their irre 
guiarities to Pope Honorious, in such a manner as to 
induce his holiness to give tiie abbot possession of it; 
and he immediately expelled the negligent prioress and 
her intriguing sisters, and established in their place a 
monastery of his own order. Strong suspicions may, 
perhaps, prevail against the virtue and integrity of. 
Eloisa's character, from the dissoluteness which exist- 
ed in this society ; but she was certainly not included 
by name in the articles of accusation which the abbot 
of St. Dennis transmitted upon this subject to the court 
of Rome; and there is every reason to believe that 
these irregularities were carefully concealed from her 
knowledge. When this lovely victim was presented 
with the veil, some persons who pitied her youth, and 
admired her beauty, represented to her the cruel sacri- 
fice she would make of herself by accepting it : but she 
immediately exclaimed, in the words of Cornelia, after 
the death of Pompey the great — 

" Oh my loved lord ! our fatal marriage draws 
On thee this doom, and I the guilty cause : 
Then while thou go'st th' extremes of fate to prove, 
I'll share that fate, and expiate thus my love !" 

and accepted the fatal present with a constancy not to 
have been expected in a woman who had so high a 
taste for pleasures which she might still enjoy. It will 
therefore, be easily conceived, that her distress, on be- 
ing ignominiously expelled from this retreat, was ex- 
ceedingly severe. She applied to Abelard to procure her 
some permanent asylum, where she might have the op- 
portunity of estranging herself from all earthly weak- 
nesses and passions ; and he, by the permission of the 
bishop of Troyes, resigned to her the house and the 
chapel of Paraclete, with its appendages, where she set- 
tled with a few sisters, and became herself the foundress 
of a nunnery. Of this monastery she continued the 
superior until she died ; and whatever her conduct was 
among the licentious nuns of Argenteuil, she lived so 
regular in this her new and last retreat, and conducted 
herself with such exemplary prudence, zeal, and piety, 
that all her former failings were forgot, her character 



262 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

adored by all who knew her, and her monastery m a 
short time enriched with so great a variety of dona- 
tions, that she was celebrated as the ablest cultivator of 
the virtues of forgiveness and christain charity then 
existing. The bishop of the district behaved to her as 
if she had been his own daughter ; the neighboring 
priors and abbots treated her with all the tenderness 
and attention of a real sister: and those who were dis- 
tressed and poor, revered her as their mother. But all 
her cares, and all her virtues, could not protect her 
against the returning weakness of her heart. "Soli- 
tude," says she, "is insupportable to a mind that is ill 
at ease ; its troubles increase in the midst of silence, 
and retirement heightens them, Since I have been 
shut up within these walls, I have done nothing but 
weep for our misfortunes : this cloister has resounded 
with my cries, and like a wretch condemned to eternal 
slavery, I have worn out my days in grief and sighing." 
The useful regulations imposed by the wisdom of 
St. Benedict upon the votaries of monastic retirement, 
were soon neglected. Abstinence and prayer were suc- 
ceeded by luxury and impiety. The revenues of the 
several orders had, by the increased value of property, 
become so great, that they were expended in purchasing 
a remission of those duties which their founders had en- 
joined. The admission of the poor laity relieved the ini- 
tiated members from the toil of cultivating the demesne 
lands, and produced a system of indolence and laziness. 
They exchanged their long fast and unsavory diet, for fre- 
quent feasts, and the richest repasts ; substituted indolent 
pride for laborious humility ; and lost entirely their ori- 
ginal piety and virtue. Abelard, indeed, and some few 
other abbots of the tenth century, endeavored to re- 
store the ancient discipline, but they were reviled and 
persecuted with the most vindictive malice by their 
contemporaries. The duke of Brittany, in order 
to secure Abelard from the rage with which he was 
pursued, for exercising qualities which ought to have 
procured him admiration and esteem, gave him the 
convent of St. Gildas, as an asylum from their hatred. 
The high character which this monastery compara- 
tively enjoyed for regularity and good order, excited a 
hope that he might there find rest from his vexations, 
and consolation for his griefs. But instead of finding 
it the seat of wisdom and piety, and the mansion of 
tranquillity, he discovered the most dissolute manners 
and abandoned conduct prevailing in every part of the 



ON THE PASSIONS. 263 

convent. His mild and rational attempts to reclaim 
these disorderly brethren, were so far from producing 
the desired effect upon their minds, that it only pro- 
voked their rage, and gave new edge to their malice. 
Foiled in tiieir endeavors, by conspiracy and calumny, 
to dispossess him of his situation, they attempted, seve- 
ral times at their common repasts, to infuse poison into 
his victuals: and at length, dreadful to relate ! actually 
administered, in the sacramental cup, the poisoned 
chalice to his lips, but which he was miraculously pre- 
vented from tasting. It is, indeed, impossible to read 
the description he has given of his dreadful situation 
in this wild and savage community, without shuddering 
at the idea how much an irrational solitude tends to 
corrupt the manners and deprave the heart. " I live," 
says he, in his letter to Philintus, " in a barbarous coun- 
try, the language of which I do not understand. I 
have no conversation but with the rudest people. My 
walks are on the inaccessible shore of a sea which is 
perpetually stormy. My monks are only known by 
their dissoluteness, and living without any rule or 
order. Ah ! Philintus, were you to see my habitation, 
vou would rather think it a slaughter house than a 
convent. The doors and walks are without any or- 
nament except the heads of wild boars, the antlers of 
sta.^s, the feet of foxes and the hides of other animals, 
which are nailed up against them. The cells are hung 
with the skins of victims destroyed in the chase. The 
monks have not so much as a bell to wake them, and 
are only roused from their drowsiness by the howling 
of dogs and the croaking of ravens. Nothing disturbs 
their laziness or languor but the rude noises of hunting ; 
and their only alternatives are riot and rest. But I 
should return my thanks to heaven if that were their 
only fault. I endeavor in vain to recall them to their 
duty ; they all combine against me; and I only expose 
myself to continual vexations and dangers. I imagine 
I see every moment a naked sword hanging ovef my 
head. Sometimes they surround me, and load me with 
the vilest abuse ; and even when they abandon me, I 
am still left to my own dreadful tormenting thoughts." 
This single example would be sufficient to prove the 
extraordinary dominion which solitude has over the 
human mind. It is, indeed, unless it be managed 
with great good sense, the complete nursery of mis- 
chief. The mind is without those numerous incentives 
to action which are continually occurring in the busy 



264 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

world ; and nothing can contribute to produce irregu- 
lar and disorderly passions more than the want of some 
pursuit by which the heart is interested and the mind 
employed. The minds of idle persons are always rest- 
less; their hearts never at perfect ease; their spirits 
continually on the fret ; and their passions goaded to 
the most unwarrantable excess. 

Idleness, even in social life, inflicts the severest tor- 
ments on the soul ; destroys the repose of individuals ; 
and, when general, frequently endangers the safe- 
ty of the state. Timotheus, an Egyptian monk, sur- 
named the Cat, a short time after trie Eutychian Con- 
troversy, in the year 457, felt an ambition to fill the 
episcopal and patriarchal chair. The splenetic restless- 
ness which prevailed amonj the monks in their several 
monastic solitudes, seemed to present to his observing 
eve proper instruments for the execution of his scheme. 
He was conscious, from his profound knowledge of the 
human character, that if men who had so long remain- 
ed in uneasy and dissatisfied indolence, could be pro- 
voked to activity, their zeal would be as turbulent as 
their former life had been lazv and supine: and that 
their dispositions might be easily turned to trie accom- 
plishment of his wishes. The better to effect his pur- 
pose, he clothed himself in a white garment, crept si- 
lently in the dead of night to the cells of his com- 
panions, and, through a tube, which concealed his voice 
while it magnified the sound of it, hailed every monk 
by his name. The sound seemed to convey the voice 
of heaven to the superstitious ears of the awakened 
auditors ; and the sagacious and enterprising trumpeter 
did not fail to announce himself as an ambassador of 
heaven, sent in the name of the Almighty to command 
the monks to assemble immediately, to consult on the 
most likely mode of deposing the Nestorian heretic 
Proterus, and of raising the favored and orthodox Ti- 
motheus to the episcopal throne. The idea of being 
thus elected to execute this pious rebellion, roused all 
the sleeping powers of these solitary and hitherto idle 
fanatics ; they rose tumultuously at the sacred signal ; 
proclaimed him as a heaven elected patriarch ; solicited 
him with friendly violence, not to refuse the promised 
boon ; and burning with all the ardor of expected suc- 
cess, marched, in a few days under the banner of the 
imposter, to Alexandria, where they inspired the mem- 
bers of other monasteries with theii own delusion, and 
created throughout Egypt the wildest and most tre- 



ON THE PASSIONS. 265 

inendous commotions. The populace caught the reli- 
gious frenzy, and joined in vast numbers the monastic 
rout. Assisted by this desperate rabble, Timotheus 
proceeded to the principal church of Alexandria, where 
jie was, by a preconcerted arrangement, pompously re- 
ceived by tw ? o deposed bishops, and ordained the me- 
tropolitan of the whole Egyptian territory. Proterus 
was astonished at this sudden irruption, and hurled his 
anathemas with great art. and dexterity against the im- 
pious audacity of the obscure monastic who had thus 
dared to depart from the humility of his station, and to 
invade with his indolent brethren, the rights of sove- 
reignty ; but being well aware of the fury with which 
this description of men generally act when they are 
once set in motion, and being informed of the vast 
multitude by which they had been joined, he 
thought it prudent to quit his palace, and to re- 
tire to the sacred shelter of the church of St. Quiri- 
tius. Heathens and barbarians had heretofore respect- 
ed this venerable sanctuary ; but, upon the present oc- 
casion, it was incapable of giving safety to its aged re- 
fugee. The furious troops of the holy impostef burst 
with irresistible violence through the walls of this 
consecrated edifice, and with their daggers drank the 
blood of the innocent pontiff, even upon - that altar, the 
very sight of which ought to have paralyzed the hand 
of guilt. His surrounding and numerous friends, par- 
ticularly six ecclesiastics of great eminence, learning, 
and piety, shared the fate of their unhappy master, and 
were found, when the dreadful massacre was over 
clinging with fondness, in the arms of death, round his 
mangled body. But it was necessary for the murderers 
to calumniate the purity of that life which they had 
thus violently and injuriously destroyed. They accord- 
ingly dragged the corpse of this virtuous patriarch to 
the most public part of the city, and, after the grossest 
abuse of his character, and most scandalous misrepre- 
sentation of his conduct, hung it on an elevated cross, 
and exposed it to the brutal insults of the misguided 
and deluded populace. To complete this unmanly out- 
rage, they at length committed the torn and mangled 
remains of this "excellent prelate to the flames, and 
hurled his ashes, amidst the most opprobrious and in- 
sulting epithets, into the darkened air; exclaiming 
with horrid imprecations, that the mortal part of such 
a wretch was not entitled to the right of sepulchre, 
or even the tears of friends. So furious and undaunt- 
23 



266 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

ed, indeed, were all the oriental monks, when once 
roused from their monastic lethargy, that even the sol- 
diers of the Greek emperors cautiously avoided meeting 
them in the field. The fury by which they were ac- 
tuated was so blind, that the pious Chrysostom, the 
warmest and most zealous advocate for monastic in- 
stitutions, trembled at his approach. This celebrated 
father of the church was born in the year 344, of one 
of the first families of the city of Antioch, and added 
new lustre to their fame by his virtues and his eloquence. 
Having finished his studies with wonderful success, 
under Libanus, the greatest rhetorician of the age, he 
devoted himself to the study of the law ; but religion 
having planted itself deeply in his mind, he quitted all 
secular concerns, and retired into solitude among the 
mountains in the vicinity of the city, where, in the 
dreary caves, he devoted two entire years to penitence 
and prayer. Ill health, however, obliged him to return 
to Antioch ; he began to preach the Word, and was 
soon followed by a host of disciples. The life of this 
excellent pastor was an example to his whole flock. 
He endeavored to drive away the wolves from the folds, 
and sent missionaries even into Scythia, to convert its 
inhabitants to Christianity. These missions, and his 
various charities, required either considerable revenues 
or the most rigid economy ; and the holy patriarch was 
contented to live in the extremest poverty, that he 
might have the better opportunity of relieving the suf- 
ferings of his fellow creatures. The character and 
conduct of this virtuous pontiff soon gained him the 
heartsof his people, and he set himself earnestlv to reform 
the many abuses which at this time prevailed at Con- 
stantinople. The severity and vehemence, however, 
with which he declaimed against the pride, the luxury, 
and the rapacity of the great ; the zeal with which he 
endeavored to reform the vices and misconduct of the 
clergy ; and the eagerness he discovered for the con- 
version of heretics, created him a multitude of enemies; 
and Eutropius, the favorite of the Emperor Arcadius; 
Gainas, the tyrant to whom he had refused protection 
for the Arians; Theophilus, of Alexandria, the patron 
of the Origenists; and the disciples of Arius, whom he 
banished from Constantinople, entered into a conspiracy 
against him; and an occasion soon happened, which gave 
them the opportunity of taking ample vengeance. The 
intrepid preacher, convinced ^that while he declaimed 
against vice in general, the peculiar vices which pre 



ON THE PASSIONS. 267 

vailed in the court of the Empress Eudoxia, and the 
personal misconduct of the Empress herself, called 
aloud for his severest animadversions, he took every 
opportunity of exposing them to the public abhorrence. 
The resentment of the court encouraged the discontent 
of the clergy and monks of Constantinople, who had 
been very severely disciplined by the zeal of the arch- 
bishop. He had condemned from the pulpit the domes- 
tic females of the clergy of Constantinople, who, under 
the name of servants or sisters, afforded a perpetual 
occasion either of sin or scandal. The silent and soli- 
tary ascetics, who had secluded themselves from the 
world, were entitled to the warmest appprobation of 
Chrysostom ; but he despised and stigmatized, as the 
disgrace of their holy profession, the crowd of degene- 
rate monks, who from some unworthy motives of plea- 
sure or profit, so frequently infested the streets of the 
metropolis. To the voice of persuasion, the archbishop 
was obliged to add the lesson of authority ; and in his 
Visitation through the Asiatic provinces, he deposed 
thirteen bishops of Lydia and Phrygia; and declared 
that a deep corruption of simony and licentiousness 
had infected the whole episcopal order. These bishops 
also entered into the confederacy above mentioned, 
and the excellent Chrysostom was studiously repre- 
sented as the intolerable tyrant of the eastern church. 
This ecclesiastical conspiracy was managed by the 
archbishop of Alexandria, who, by the invitation of 
Eudoxia, landed at Constantinople with a stout body of 
Egyptian mariners, to encounter the populace, and a 
train of dependant bishops, to secure, by their voices, a 
majority of a synod. The synod was convened in the 
suburbs of Chalcedon, and was called the Oak; in 
which Chrysostom, was accused of treason against the 
empress; rudely arrested, and driven into exile: from 
whence, however, he was in two days recalled ; but, 
upon a repetition of his imputed offences, was again 
banished to the remote and desolate town of Cucusus 
among the ridges of mount Taurus, in the Lesser Ar- 
menia. On his way to this place, he was detained by- 
sickness at Cesarea, and at length confined to his bed. 
The bishop of Cesarea, who had long entertained a 
secret enmity against him, unmoved by his fallen for- 
tunes and helpless state, stirred up the lazy monks of 
the surrounding monasteries to vengeance against him. 
The fury with which they issued from their respective 
cells was incredible ; like the sleeping powder of the 



268 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

present age, they burst into immediate conflagration 
and explosion at the touch of that hand by which they 
were fired, and directing their heated animosity against 
the dying Chrysostom, surrounded his house and 
threatened, that if he did not immediately depart, they 
would involve it. in flames, and bury him in its ruins. 
The soldiers of the garrison were called out to protect 
the life of this virtuous ecclesiastic; and, on their arri- 
val at the scene of action, very courteously requested 
the enraged monks to be quiet and depart ; but the re- 
quest was treated with contempt and defiance: and it 
was by the humane resolution of Chrysostom himself 
that this tumult was quelled; for, rather than the blood 
of his fellow creatures should be shed on his account, 
he desired a litter might be procured, into which, in 
his almost expiring state, he was roughly laid, and, by 
his departure from the city, escaped the iury which thus 
assailed his life. It is evident, from these facts, that the 
irrational soli lude of monastic institutions, particularly 
that which prevailed in the early ages of Christianity 
in the eastern parts of the converted world, instead of 
rendering the votaries of it mild, complacent and hu- 
mane, filled their minds with the wildest notions, and 
the most uncharitable and acrimonious passions, and 
fostered m their hearts the most dangerous and de- 
structive vices. It is truly said, by avery elegant writer 
and profound observer of men and manners, that 
monastic institutions unavoidably contract and fetter 
the human mind ; that the partial attachment of a monk 
to the interest of his order, which is often incompatible 
with that of other citizens, the habit of implicit obedi- 
ence to the will of a superior, together with the fre- 
quent return of the wearisome and frivolous duties of 
the cloister, debase his faculties, and extinguish that 
generosity of sentiment and spirit which qualifies men 
for thinking and feeling justly, with respect to what is 
proper in life and conduct; and that father Paul of 
Venice was, perhaps, the only person educated in a 
cloister, that ever was altogether superior to its preju- 
dices, or who viewed the transactions of men, and rea- 
soned concerning the interests of society, with the en- 
larged sentiments of a philosopher, with the discernment 
of a man conversant in affairs, and with the liberality 
of a gentleman. Depraved, however, as this order of 
men has ever been, it was to their prayers and masses 
that all the princes and potentates of more than half 
the discovered regions of the earth confided their salva- 



ON THE PASSIONS. 269 

tion, and expected from their intercession, divine favor 
from the fountain of all goodness and truth. But the 
fears which these artful and intriguing ecclesiastics 
raised in the weak or guilty minds of their contempo- 
raries, instead of being quieted by the conciliatory and 
comforting doctrines of the gospel of Christ, were con- 
verted to the purposes of their own sordid avarice, and 
made subservient to the enjoyment of their vices, and 
the advancement of their power. They inculcated the 
notion, that the surest passport to eternal bliss was to 
overwhelm them with riches, and to indulge them with 
extraordinary privileges ; and every haughty noble, or 
despotic sovereign, who was anxious to gratify his own 
wanton pleasures, and capricious vices, at the expense 
of his people's prosperity and happiness, endeavored to 
reconcile himself to his offended God, by bribing these 
ambitious and greedy monastics to grant them absolu- 
tion for their deepest crimes. Their history exhibits, 
in full view, the melancholy truth, that their hearts 
were corrupted by the worst passions that disgrace hu- 
manity, and that the discipline of the convent was sel- 
dom productive of a single virtue. Enthusiasts, indeed, 
of every description, whose sentiments and feelings 
are continually at war with the dictates of nature, and 
who renounce all the pleasing sympathies, gentle endear- 
ments, kind connexions, and rational enjoyments of 
life, are not likely to entertain any great anxiety for the 
interest or happiness of others, or to feel the least com- 
miseration for their sorrows. Occupied by sordid and 
s j ifsh pursuits, they must hate and despise a society, to 
the lively enjoyments of which they look back with 
such keen regret. When the mind, alas ! has numbed 
its sense of social joys, and become a stranger to 
the delightful charms of sweet domestic love ; when 
all affection for the world and its concerns has been 
studiously expelled from the bosom, and no kind feel- 
ins: or social inclination suffered to fill the vacant heart; 
when man has separated himself from his species, and 
has not united his soul with his Creator, he has lost all 
power of being happy himself, or of communicating 
happiness to others. 

The bishop exceeded the inferior clergy in every kind 
of profligacy, as much as in opulence and power; and, 
of course, their superintending and visitorial authority 
was not exerted to lessen or restrain the prevalence of 
those vices which their evil example contributed so 
greatly to increase. Time and chance sometimes pro* 
23* 



£70 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

duce extraordinary events; and if a really pious, vigi- 
lant, and austere prelate arose amidst the general disso- 
luteness of the age, his single effort to reclaim these so- 
litary ecclesiastics was seldom attended with success. 
These fathers, indeed, frequently scrutinized with great 
minuteness into the practices of the convents ; and as 
they were not so able to detect, the guilt of incontinen- 
cy, as some philosophers of the present age pretend to 
be, by the lines and features of the face, th y proceeded 
upon evidence less delicate, perhaps, but certainly more 
demonstrative and unerring. 

The celebrated Boccace has, by his witty and inge- 
nious tales, very severely satirized the licentiousness 
and immorality which prevailed during his time in the 
Italian monasteries; but, by exposing the scandalous 
lives, and lashing the vices, of the monks, nuns, and 
other orders of the Catholic clergy, he has been decried 
as a contemner of religion, and as an enemy to true 
piety. Contemporary historians have also delivered the 
most disgusting accounts of their intemperance and 
debauchery. The frailty, indeed, of the female monas- 
tics was even an article of regular taxation : and the 
holy father did not disdain to fill his coffers' with the 
price of their impurities. The frail nun, whether she 
had become immured within a convent, or still resided 
without its walls, might redeem her lost honor, and be 
reinstated in her former dignity and virtue, for a few 
ducats. This scandalous traffic was carried to an ex- 
tent that soon destroyed all sense of morality, and 
heightened the hue of vice. Ambrosius, bishop of Ca- 
macloli, a prelate of extraordinary virtue, visited various 
convents in his diocess, but, on inspecting their proceed- 
ings, he found no traces of virtue, or even of decency 
remaining in any one of them ; nor was he able, with 
all the sagacity he exercised on the subject, to reinfuse 
the smallest particle of these qualities into the degene- 
rated minds of the sisterhood. 

The reform of the nunneries was the first step that 
distinguished the government of Sextus IV. after he 
ascended the papal throne, at the close of the fifteenth 
centurv. Bossus, a celebrated canon, of the strictest 
principles, and most inflexible disposition, was the agent 
selected by his holiness for this arduous achievement. 
The Genoese convents, where the nuns lived in open 
defiance of all the rules of decency and precepts of re- 
ligion, were the first objects of his attention. The 
orations which he publicly uttered from the pulpit, as 



ON THE PASSIONS. 271 

well as the private lectures and exhortations which he 
delivered to the nuns from the confessional chair, were 
fine models, not only of his zeal and probity, but of his 
literature and eloquence. They breathed, in the most 
impressive manner, the true spirit of Christian purity ; 
but his glowing representations of the bright beauties 
of virtue, and the dark deformities of vice made little 
impression upon their corrupt hearts. Despising the 
open calumnies of the envious, and the secret hostilities 
of the guilty, he proceeded, in spite of all discourage- 
ment and opposition, in his highly honorable pursuit ; 
and at length, by his wisdom and assiduity, beheld the 
fairest prospects of success daily opening to his view. 
The rays of hope, however, had scarcely beamed upon 
his endeavors, when they were immediately overcloud- 
ed by disappointment. The arm of magistracy, which 
he had wisely called upon to aid the accomplishment of 
his design, was enervated by the venality of its hand; 
and the incorrigible objects of his solicitude having 
freed themselves by bribery from the terror of the civil 
power, contemned the reformer's denunciation of eter- 
nal vengeance hereafter, and relapsed into their former 
licentiousness and depravity. A few, indeed, among 
the great number of nuns who inhabited these guilty 
convents, were converted by the force of his eloquent 
remonstrances, and became afterward highly exem- 
plary by the virtue and piety of their lives ; but the rest 
abandoned themselves to their impious courses ; and 
though more vigorous methods were, in a short time, 
adopted against the refractory monastics, they set all 
attempts to reform them at defiance. The modes, per- 
haps, in which their vices were indulged, changed with 
the character of the age ; and as manners grew more 
refined, the gross ana 1 shameful indulgences of the 
monks and nuns were changed into a more elegant and 
decent style of enjoyment. Fashion might render them 
more prudent and reserved in their intrigues ; but their 
passions were not less vicious, nor their dispositions 
less corrupt. 

The disorderly manners of these solitary devotees 
were among the principal causes that produced the re- 
formation. There is a point beyond which even de- 
pravity cannot go in corrupting the manners of the age. 
The number and power of the monastics, or, as they 
were at that time called, the regular clergy, was cer- 
tainly great, and their resistance to the approaches ol 
reformation obstinate ; but the temper of the times had 



272 INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE 

changed, and the glorious and beneficial event was at 
length accomplished. The Catholics viewed the dis- 
memberment of their church as a fatal stroke to their 
interest and power; but it has since been confessed, by 
every candid and rational member of this communion 
to be an event which h s contributed to advance morals 
to a higher degree of perfection than they had ever be- 
fore attained since the introduction of Christianity, and 
to restore the discipline of the church to some portion 
of its original purity. 

The pure spirit of the gospel of Christ breathes forth 
a holy religion, founded oh meekness, charity, kindness, 
and brotherly love ; but fanaticism, when joined to a 
systematic and irrational solitude, only produces the 
rank and poisonous fruits we have already described. 
The trivial, querulous, and intolerant superstitions, 
which, during so many ages, eclipsed the reason and 
morals of mankind, and "obscured, in clouds of lust 
and cruelty, the bright rays of evangelical truth, were 
the sad effects of irrational solitudeT The best affec- 
tions of nature were perverted or suppressed ; all the 
gentle offices of humanity were neglected ; moral sen- 
timents despised ; and the angel voice of piety unheard, 
or converted into the violent vociferations of hatred, 
and the cries uf persecution. The loud clangors of 
pretended orthodoxy resounded with sanguinary hosti- 
lities from shore to shore; the earth was "deluged with 
the blood of those who dared to deny, or even to doubt 
the absurd and idle dogmas which the monks every 
where invented: and their horrid barbarities were at- 
tempted to be justified by propagating the notion that 
severity with heretics was the only mode of preserving 
the true faith. Oh ! how blind is human folly ! How 
obdurate are hearts vitiated by pride ! How can that 
be the true faith which tears asunder every social tie ; 
annihilates all the feelings of nature ; places cruelty and 
horror on the throne of humanity and love, and scat- 
ters ferocious fury and insatiable hatred through the 
paths of life? But we may now indulge a pleasing- 
hope, that the period is at hand, when the sacred temple 
of religion, purified by the labors of learned and truly 
pious men, from the foul stains with which fanaticism 
and ambition have so long defaced it, shall be restored 
to its own divine simplicity ; and onlv the voice of gen- 
tleness, of love, of peace of virtue, and of goodness, be 
heard within its walls. Then will every Christian be 
truly taught the only means by which his days may be 



ON THE PASSIONS. 273 

useful and his life happy; and Catholics, Lutherans, 
Calvinists, Protestants, and every really religious class 
of men, will unite in acts of sincere benevolence and 
universal peace. No austere, gloomy, and dispiriting 
duties: no irrational penances and unnatural mortifica- 
tion, will be enjoined ; no intolerant cruelties be inflict- 
ed ; no unsocial institutions established; no rites of 
solitary selfish npss be required ; but reason and religion 
in divine perfection, will reassume their reign; and, un- 
affected and sincere devotion will occupy every mind ; 
the Almighty will be worshipped in spirit -and in truth: 
and we shall be convinced that "the wicked are like 
the troubled sea when it cannot rest ; but that the work 
of righteousness is peace, and the effect of righteous- 
ness, quietude and assurance for ever." To effect this, 
a rational retirement from the tumults of the world 
will be occasionally necessary, in order to commune 
with our own hearts, and be still, and to dispose our 
minds to such a train of thinking, as shall prepare us 3 
when the giddy whirl of life is finished for the society 
o£ more exalted spirits. 

Oh ! would mankind but make fair truth their guide, 

And force the helm from prejudice and pride, 

Were once these maxims fixd, that God's our friend, 

Virtue our good, and happiness our end, 

How soon must reason o'er the world prevail, 

And error, fraud and superstition fail ! 

None would hereafter, then, with groundless fear, 

Describe th' Almighty cruel arid severe j 

Predestinating some, without pretence, 

To heaven ; and some to hell, for no offence; 

Inflicting endless pains for transient crimes, 

And favoring sects or nations, men or times. 

To please him, none would foolishly forbear, 

Or food, or rest, or itch in shirts of hair: 

Or deem it merit to believe, or teach, 

What reason contradicts or cannot reach. 

None would fierce zeal for piety mistake, 

Or malice, for whatever tenet's sake ; 

Or think salvation to one sect confin'd, 

And heaven too narrow to contain mankind. 

No more would brutal rage disturb ourpoace, 

But envy, hatred, war, and discord cease ; 

Our own and others' good each hour employ, 

And all things smile with universal joy ; 

Fair virtue then, with pure religion join'd, 

Would regulate and bless the human mind, 

And man be what his Maker first design'd. 



274 DANGER OF IDLENESS 

CHAPTER VII. 

Of the danger of idleness in solitude. 

Idleness is truly said to be the root of all evil; and 
solitude certainly encourages in the generality of its vo- 
taries this baneful disposition. Nature has so framed 
the character of man, that his happiness essentially de- 
pends on his passions being properly interested^ his 
imagination busied, and his faculties employed ; but 
these engagements are seldom found in the vacant 
scenes and tedious hours of retirement from the world, 
except by those who have acquired the great and happy 
art of furnishing their own amusements; an art which, 
as we have already shown, can never be learnt in the 
irrational solitude cf caves and cells. 

The idleness which solitude is so apt to induce, is 
dangerous in proportion to the natural strength, activity, 
and spirit of the mind ; for it is observed, that the high- 
est characters are frequently goaded by that restless- 
ness which accompanies leisure, to acts of* the wildest 
Outrage and greatest enormity. The ancient legisla- 
tors were so conscious that indolence, whether indulged 
in solitude or in society, is the nurse of civil commo- 
tion, and the chief instigator of moral turpitude, that 
they wisely framed their laws to prevent its existence. 
Solon, observing that the city was filled with persons 
who assembled from all parts on account of the great 
security in which the people lived in Attica, that the 
country withal was poor and barren, and being con- 
scious that merchants, who traffic by sea, do not use to 
transport their goods where they can have nothing in 
exchange, turned the attention of the citizens to manu- 
factures ; and for this purpose made a law, that he who 
was three times convicted of idleness, should be deem- 
ed infamous ; that no son should be obliged to main- 
tain his father if he had not taught him a trade; 
that trade should be accounted honorable ; and that the 
council of the Areopagus should examine into every 
man's means of living, and chastise the idle with the 
greatest severity. Draco conceived it so necessary to 
prevent the prevalence of a vice to which man is by 
nature prone, and which is so destructive to his charac- 
ter, and ruinous to his manners, that he punished idle- 
ness with death. The tyrant Pisistratus, as Theophras- 
tus relates, was so convinced of the importance of pre- 



IN SOLITUDE 275 

venting idleness among his subjects, that he made a 
law against it, whicn produced at once industry in the 
country, and tranquillity in the city. Pericles, who, in 
order to relieve Athens from a number of lazy citizens, 
wnose lives were neither employed in virtuous actions, 
nor guarded from guilt by habits of industry, planted 
colonies in Chersonesus, Naxos, Andros, Thrace, and 
even in Italy, and sent them thither; for this sagacious 
statesman saw the danger of indulging this growing 
vice, and wisely took precautions to prevent it. Nothing, 
indeed, contributes more essentially to the tranquillity 
of a nation, and to the peaceful demeanor of its inhabi- 
tants, than those artificial wants which luxury intro- 
duces; for, by creating a demand for the fashionable 
articles, they engage the attention, and employ the 
hands (if a multitude of manufacturers and artificers, 
who, if they were left in that restless indolence which 
the want of work creates, would certainly be unhappy 
themselves, and in all probability would be fomenting 
mischief in the minds of others. To suspend only for 
one week, the vast multitudes that are employed in the 
several mechanical trades and manufactories in Great 
Britain, would be to run the risk of involving the me- 
tropolis of that great, flourishing, and powerful country, 
once more in flames : for it would be converting the 
populace into an aptly disposed train of combustible 
matter, which being kindled by the least spark of acci- 
dental enthusiasm, by the heat of political faction, or, 
indeed, by their own internal fermentation, would ex- 
plode into the most flagrant enormities. Nature, it is 
said, abhors a vacuum ; and this old peripatetic princi- 
ple may be properly applied to the intellect, which will 
embrace any thing, however absurd or criminal, rather 
than be wholly without an object. The same author 
also observes, that every man may date the predomi- 
nance of those desires that disturb his life, and con- 
taminate his conscience, from some unhappy hour when 
too much leisure exposed him to their incursions; for 
that he has lived with little observation, either on him- 
self or others, wh© does not know that to be idle is to 
be vicious. "Many writers of eminence in physic" 
continues this eminent writer, whose works not only 
disclose his general acquaintance with life and manners, 
but a profound knowledge of human nature, "have 
laid out their diligence upon the consideration of those 
distempers to which men are exposed by particular 
states of life ; and very learned treatises have been pro- 



276 DANGER OF IDLENESS 

duced upon the maladies of the camp, the sea, and the 
mines. There are, indeed, few employments which a 
man accustomed to academical inquiries and medical 
refinements, would nut find reason for declining, as 
dangerous to health, did not his learning or experience 
inform him, that almost every occupation, however in- 
convenient or formidable, is happier and safer than a 
life of sloth. The necessity of action is not only de- 
monstrable from the fabric of the body, but evident 
from observation of the universal practice of mankind ; 
who for the preservation of health in those whose rank 
or wealth exempts them from the necessity of lucra- 
tive labors, have invented sports and diversions, though 
not of equal use to the world with manual trades, yet 
of equal fatigue to those who practice them, and differ- 
ing only from the drudgery of the husbandman or 
manufacturer, as they are acts of choice, and therefore 
performed without the painful sense of compulsion. 
The huntsman rises early, pursues his game through 
all the dangers and obstructions of the chase, swims 
rivers, and scales precipices, till he returns home, no 
less harassed than the soldier, and has, perhaps, some- 
times incurred as great hazard of wounds and death ; 
yet he has no motive to excite his ardor ; he is neither 
subject to the command of a general, nor dreads the 
penalties of neglect or disobedience: he has neither 
profits nor honors to expect from his perils and con- 
quests: but acts with the hope of mural or civic gar- 
lands, and must content himself with the praise of his 
tenants and companions. But such is the constitution 
of man, that labor is its own reward ; nor will any ex- 
ternal incitements be requisite, if it be considered how 
much happiness is gained, and how much misery 
escaped, by frequent and violent agitation of the body. 
Ease is the most that can be hoped from a sedentary 
and inactive habit ; but ease is a mere neutral state, be- 
tween pain and pleasure. The dance of spirits, the 
bound of vigor,readinessof enterprise, and defianeeof fa- 
tigue, are reserved for him that braces his nerves, and har- 
dens his fibres ; that keeps his limbs pliant with motion ; 
and, by frequent exposure fortifies his frame against the 
common accidents of cold and heat With ease, how- 
ever, if it could be secured, many would be content ; 
but nothing terrestrial can be kept at a stand. Ease, it 
it is not rising into pleasure, will be settling into pain ; 
and whatever hopes the dreams of speculation may 
suggest, of observing the proportion between retirement 



IN SOLITUDE. 2?t 

and labor, and keeping the body in a healthy state by 
supplies exactly equal to its weight, we know that, in 
effect, the vital powers, unexcited by motion, grow gra- 
dually languid, decay, and die. It is necessary to that 
perfection of which our present state is capable, that 
the mind and body should both be kept in action ; that 
neither the faculties of the one nor the other should be 
suffered to grow lax or torpid for want of use ; that 
neither health can be purchased by voluntary submis- 
sion to ignorance, nor knowledge cultivated at the ex- 
pense of that health, which must enable it either to 
five pleasure to its possessor, or assistance to others, 
t is too frequently the pride of students, to despise 
those amusements which give to the rest of mankind 
strength of limbs and cheerfulness of heart. Solitude 
and contemplation are, indeed, seldom consistent with 
such skill in common exercises or sports, as is necessa- 
ry to make them practised with delight; and no man is 
willing to do that of which the necessity is not press- 
ing, when he knows that his awkwardness but makes 
him ridiculous. I have always admired the wisdom of 
those by whom our female education was instituted, 
for having contrived that all women, of whatever con- 
dition, should be taught some arts of manufacture, by 
which the vacuities of recluse and domestic leisure 
may be filled up. These arts are more necessary, as 
the weakness of their sex, and the general system of 
life, debar ladies from many enjoyments, which, by di- 
versifying the circumstances of men, preserve them 
from being cankered by the rust of their own thoughts. 
I know not how much of the virtue and happiness of 
the world may be the consequence of this judicious re- 
gulation. Perhaps the most powerful fancy might be 
unable to figure the confusion and slaughter that would 
be produced by so many piercing eyes and vivid under- 
standings, turned loose upon mankind, with no other 
business than to sparkle and intrigue, to perplex and 
destroy. For my own part, whenever chance brings 
within my observation a knot of misses busy at their 
needles, I consider myself as in the school of virtue ; 
and though I have no extraordinary skill in plain work, 
or embroidery, look upon their operations with as much 
satisfaction as their governess, because I regard them 
as providing a security against the most dangerous en- 
snarers of the soul, by enabling them to exclude idle- 
ness from their solitary moments, and with idleness, 
her attendant train of passions, fancies, chimeras, fears, 
24 



278 DANGER OF IDLENESS &C. 

sorrows, and desires. Ovid and Cervantes will inform 
them that love l.*as no power but on those whom he 
catches unemployed : and Hector, in the Iliad, when 
lie sees Andromache overwhelmed with tears, sends 
her for consolation to the loom and the distaff. Certain 
it is, that wild wishes, and vain imaginations, never 
take such firm possession of the mind, as when it is 
found empty and unemployed." 

Idleness, indeed, was the spreading root from which 
all the vices and crimes of the oriental nuns so luxuri- 
antly branched. Few of them had any taste for science, 
or were enabled by the habits either of reflection, or 
industry to charm away the tediousness of solitude, or 
to relieve that weariness which must necessarily ac- 
company their abstracted situation. The talents with 
which nature had endowed them were uncultivated ; 
the glimmering lights of reason were obscured by a 
blind and headlong zeal ; and their temper soured" by 
the circumstances of their forlorn conditions. Certain 
it is, that the only means of avoiding unhappiness and 
misery in solitude, and perhaj s in society also, is to 
keep the mind continually engaged in, or occupied by, 
some laudable pursuit. The earliest professors of a 
life of solitude, although they removed themselves 
far from the haunts of men, among " caverns deep and 
deserts idle," where nature denied her sons the most 
common of her blessings, employed themselves in en- 
deavoring to cultivate the rude and barren soil during 
those intervals in which they were not occupied in the 
ordinary labors of religion ; and even those whose ex- 
traordinary sanctity confined them the whole day in 
their cells, found the necessity of filling up their leisure, 
by exercising the manual arts for which they were re- 
spectively suited. The rules, indeed, which were ori- 
ginally established in most of the convents, ordained 
that the time and attention of a monk should never be 
for a moment vacant or unemployed : but this excellent 
precept was soon rendered obsolete ; and the sad con- 
sequences which resulted from its non-observance, we 
have already, in some degree, described. 



CONCLUSION. 279 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Conclusion. 

The anxiety with which I have endeavored to de- 
scribe the advantages and the disadvantages which, 
under particular circumstances, and in particular situa- 
tions, are likely to be experienced by those who devote 
themselves to solitary retirement, may perhaps, occa- 
sion me to be viewed by some as its romantic panegy- 
rist, and by others as its imcandid censor. I shall 
therefore endeavor, in this concluding chapter, to pre- 
vent a misconstruction of my opinion^ by explicitly de- 
claring the inferences which ought, in fairness, to be 
drawn from what I have said. 

The advocates for a life of uninterrupted society will, 
in all probability, accuse me of being a morose ana 
gloomy philosopher; an inveterate enemy to social in- 
tercourse; who, by recommending a melancholy and 
sullen seclusion, and interdicting mankind from enjoy- 
ing the pleasures of life, would sour their tempers, sub- 
due their affections, annihilate the best feelings of the 
heart, pervert the noble faculty of reason, and thereby 
once more plunge the world into that dark abyss of bar- 
barism, from which it has been so happily rescued by 
the establishment and civilization of society. 

The advocates for a life of continual solitude will 
most probably, on the other hand, accuse me of a de- 
sign to deprive the species of one of the most pleasing 
and satisfactory delights, by exciting an unjust antipa- 
thy, raising an unfounded alarm, depreciating the uses, 
and aggravating the abuses, of solitude; and by these 
means endeavoring to encourage that spirit of licen- 
tiousness and dissipation which so strongly mark 
the degeneracy, and tend to promote the vices of 
the age. 

The respective advocates for these opinions, however, 
equally mistake the intent and view I had in composing 
this treatise. T do sincerely assure them, that it was 
very far from my intention to cause a relaxation of the 
exercise of any of the civil duties of life; to impair in 
any degree, the social dispositions of the human heart ; 
to lessen any inclination to rational retirement: or to 
prevent the beneficent practice of self-commitm'on, 
which solitude is best calculated to promote. The fine 
and generous philanthropy of that mind which, enter- 



280 CONCLUSION. 

taining notions of universal benevolence, seeks to feel 
a love for, and to promote the good of, the whole hu- 
man race, can never be injured by an attachment to 
domestic pleasures, or by cultivating the soft and gen- 
tle affections which are only to be found in the small 
circles of private life, and can never be truly enjoyed, 
except in ihe bosom of love, or the arms of friendship : 
nor will an occasional and rational retirement from 
the tumults of the world lessen any of the noble sym- 
pathies of the human heart: but on the contrary, by 
enlarging those ideas and feelings which have sprung' 
from the connexions and dependencies which its votary 
may have formed with individuals, and by generaliz- 
ing his particular interests and concerns, may enable 
him to extend the social principle and increase the cir- 
cle of his benevolence. 

God loves from whole to parts ; but human soul 
Must rise from individual to whole. 
Self love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, 
As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
The centre mov : d, a circle straight succeeds j 
Another still, and still another spreads ; 
Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace; 
His country next ; and next, all human race. 

The chief design of this work was, to exhibit the ne- 
cessity of combining the uses of solitude with those of 
society ; to show, in the strongest light, the advantages 
they may mutually derive from each other; to convince 
mankind of the danger of running into either extreme; 
to teach the advocate for uninterrupted society, how 
highly all the social virtues may be improved, and its 
vices easily abandoned, by habits of solitary abstrac- 
tion ; and the advocate for continual solitude, how 
much that indocility and arrogance of character which 
is contracted by a total absence from the world, may 
be corrected by the urbanity of society, and by the 
company and conversation of the learned and polite. 

Petrarch, while in the prime of life, and amidst the 
happiest exertions of his extraordinary genius, quitted 
all the seducing charms of society, and retired from 
love and Avignon, to indulge his mind in literary pur- 
suits, and to relieve his heart from the unfortunate pas- 
sion by which it was enthralled. No situation, he con- 
ceived, was so favorable for these purposes as the high- 
ly romantic and delightful solitude of Vaucluse. It was 
situated within view of the Mediterranean sea, in a lit- 
tle valley, inclosed by a semicircular barrier of rocks, 



CONCLUSION. 281 

on a plain as beautiful as the vale of Tempe. The 
rocks were high, bold, and grotesque ; and the valley 
was divided by a river, along the banks of which were 
meadows and pastures of a perpetual verdure. A path 
on the left side of the river, led, by gentle windings, to 
the head of this vast amphitheatre. At the foot of the 
highest rock, and directly in front of the valley, was a 
prodigious cavern, hollowed by the hand of nature, from 
whence arose a spring almost as celebrated as that of 
Helicon. The gloom of the cavern, which was accessi- 
ble when the waters were low, was tremendous. It 
consisted of two excavations ; the one forming an arch 
of sixty feet high ; and the other, which was within, of 
thirty feet. In the centre of this subterraneous rock 
was an oval basin, of one hundred and eight feet dia- 
meter, into which that copious stream which forms the 
river Sorgia rises silently, without even a jet or bubble. 
The depth of this basin has eluded all attempts to fa- 
thom it. In this charming retreat, while he vainly en- 
deavored, during a period of twenty years, to forget, he 
enabled himself to endure the absence of his beloved 
Laura, and to compare, with the highest satisfaction, 
the pure pleasures of rural retirement with the false 
joys of a vicious and corrupted court, the manners and 
principles of which, indeed, he had always had good 
sense enough to discover and despise. But this soli- 
tude, with all its charms, could not at length prevent 
him from returning to the more splendid and busy 
scenes of public life. The advantages he had derived 
from a retreat of twenty years, would, he conceived, 
enable him to mix with the world without the danger 
of being corrupted by its vices; and after reasoning 
with himself for some time in this way, he suddenly 
abandoned the peaceful privacy of Vaucluse, and preci- 
pitated himself into the gayest and most active scenes 
of a luxurious city. The inhabitants of Avignon were 
amazed to behold the hermit of Vaucluse, the tender 
fugitive from love, the philosophic contemner of society, 
who could scarcely exist, except in the midst of roman- 
tic rocks and flowery forests, shining all at once the 
bright star of the fashionable hemisphere, and the 
choice spirit of every private and public entertainment. 

Wer'e sadly ignorant, when we hope to find 
In shades a med'eine for a troubled mind ; 
Wan grief will haunt us wheresoe'er we go, 
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow; 
There pale inaction pines his life away, 
And satiate, curses the return of day j 
24* 



*^? CONCLUSION. 

There love, insatiate, rages wild with pain, 
Endures the blast, or plunges in the main • 
There superstition broods o'er all her fears 
And yells of demons in the zephyr hears 
He who a hermit is resolv'd to dwell, 
And bids a social life a long farewell, 
Is impious 

It has already been observed, upon the authority of a 
very accurate and profound observer of nature, that a 
very extraordinary temperament of mind and constitu- 
tion of body are required to sustain, with tranquillity 
and endurance, the various fatigues of continued soli- 
tude ; and certain it is, that a human creature who is 
constantly pent up in seclusion, must, if he be not of a 
very exalted character, soon become melancholy and 
miserable. Happiness, like every other valuable quality, 
cannot be completely possessed, without encountering" 
many dangers, and conquering many difficulties. The 
prize is great, but the task is arduous. A healthy body, 
and vigorous mind, are as essentially necessary to the 
enterprise, as equal courage and fortitude are to its suc- 
cess. The bold adventurer, who, destitute of these re- 
sources, quits the bays and harbors of society, shallow, 
rocky, and dangerous, as they undoubtedly are, and 
commits himself to the wild and expansive sea of soli- 
tude, will sink into its deep and disastrous bed without 
a hold to save him from destruction. The few instan- 
ces we have already given, to which many more might 
easily be added, furnish unequivocal testimony of The 
truth of this grand precept, it is not good far wan to be 
alone ; which was given by the great Author of nature, 
and imprinted in characters sufficiently legible on the 
human heart. 

God never made a solitary man : 

»T would jar the concord of his general plan. 

Should man through nature solitary roam, 

His will his sovereign, every where his home, 

What force would guard him from the lion's jaw ? 

What swiftness save him from the panther's paw ? 

Or should fate lead him to some safer shore. 

Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar, 

Where liberal nature all her charrrs bestows, 

Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows, 

Still discontented, though such glories shone 

He'd sigh and murmur u> be there alone. 

Content cannot be procured, except by social inter- 
course, or a judicious communion with those whom 
congenial tastes, and similar talent and dispositions, 



CONCLUSION. 283 

point cut for our companions. The civilization of man, 
from whence the species derive such happy consequen- 
ces, results entirely from a proper management of the 
social principles ; even the source of his support, the 
melioration of the otherwise rude and unprofitable 
earth, can only be attained by social combination. How 
erroneous a notion, therefore, must the minds of those 
men have formed of "their being's end and aim," and 
how strong must their antipathies to the species be, who 
like a certain celebrated French hermit, would choose 
a station among the cratersofJ/"esuvius, as a place which 
afforded them greater sectfruy than the society of man- 
kind ! The idea of being able to produce our own hap- 
piness from the stores of amusement and delight which 
we ourselves may possess, independently of all com- 
munication with, or assistance from others, is certainly 
extremely flattering to the natural pride of man ; but 
even if this were possible, and that a solitary enthusiast 
could work up his feelings to a higher and more lasting 
degree of felicity, than an active inhabitant of the world, 
amid all its seducing vices and enchanting follies, is ca- 
pable of enjoying, it would not follow thatf society is not 
the province of all those whom peculiar circumstances 
have not unfitted for its duties and enjoyments. Jt is, 
indeed, a false and deceitful notion, that a purer stream 
of happiness is to be found in the delightful bowers of 
solitude than in the busy walks of men. Neither of 
these stations enjoy exclusively this envied stream : for 
it flows along the vale of peace, which lies between the 
two extremes ; and those who follow it with a steady 
pace, without deviating too widely from its brink on 
either side, will reach its source, and taste it at its 
spring. But devious, to a certain degree, must be the 
walk; for the enjoyments of life are best attained by 
bein£ varied with judgment and discretion. The finest 
joys grow nauseous to the taste when the cup of plea- 
sure is dramed to its dregs. The highest delight loses 
its attraction by too frequent recurrence. It is only by 
a proper mixture and combination of the pleasures of 
society with those of solitude, of the gay and lively re- 
creations of the world with the serene and tranquil sa- 
tisfactions of retirement, that we can enjoy each in its 
highest relish. Life is intolerable without society ; and 
society loses half its charms by being too eagerly and 
constantly pursued. Society, indeed, by bringing men 
of congenial minds and similar dispositions together, 
uniting them by a community of pursuits, and a reci- 



284 CONCLUSION. 

procal sympathy of interests, may greatly assist the 
cause of truth and virtue, by advancing the means of 
human knowledge and multiplying the ties of human 
affections ; and so far as the festive board, the lively 
dance, the brilliant coterie, and other elegant and fa- 
shionable pastimes, contribute to these ends, they are 
truly valuable, and deserve, not only encouragement, 
but approbation. On this principle, the various clubs 
which are formed by artizans, and other inferior orders 
in society, ought to be respected. The mind, in order 
to preserve its useful activity and proper tone, must be 
occasionally relaxed, which cannot be so beneficially 
effected as by means of associations founded on the 
pursuit of common pleasure. A friendly meeting, or a 
social entertainment, exhilarates the spirits, exercises 
the faculties of the mind ; calls forth the feelings of the 
heart, and creates, when properly formed and indulged, 
a reciprocity of kindness, confidence, and esteem. It 
softens the severity of virtue, while it strengthens and 
enforces its effects. I therefore sincerely exhort my 
disciples not to absent themselves morosely from public 
places, nor to avoid the social throng; which cannot 
fail to afford to judicious, rational, and feeling minds, 
many subjects both of amusement and instruction. It 
is true, that we cannot relish the pleasures, and taste 
the advantages of society, without being able to give a 
patient hearing to the tongue of folly, to excuse error, 
to bear with infirmity, to view mediocrity of talents 
without scorn, and illiberality of sentiment without re- 
tort; to indulge frivolity of behavior, and even to for- 
give rudeness of manners : but the performance of 
these conditions meets with its own reward ; for it is 
scarcely credible, how very much our own tempers and 
dispositions are meliorated, and our understandings im- 
proved, by bearing with the different tempers, and hu- 
moring the perverse dispositions of others; we experi- 
ence by such a conduct the high delight of pleasing 
others, and the great advantage of improving our- 
selves. 

Delightful, however, as social pleasures naturally are 
to the human mind ; necessary as they certainlv are, 
under proper regulations, to the preservation of the 
spirits ; and beneficial as they may undoubtedlv be ren- 
dered, by judicious choice and wise reflection," it is not 
every person who withdraws himself from the highly 
colored scenes of public life, to the shades of privacy 
and retirement, that deserves the imputation generally 



CONCLUSION. 285 

cast on such characters, of being 1 inclined to sullenness 
and misanthropy. There are many who seek the re- 
treats of solitude, for the very purpose of rendering 
their efforts more useful to society; many who relin- 
quish the endearments of private friendship, and the 
applauses of public approbation, only the more nobly to 
Reserve them; and many, whose souls are so bitterly 
tormented by the anguish of misfortune, and the sick- 
ness of sorrow, that they find no relief from society, and 
recede from its scenes to avoid giving disturbance to 
that gayety which they are incapable of enjoying, and 
to prevent their fractious feelings from molesting any 
but themselves. There are others who retire from the 
world to pursue objects the most glorious to the indivi- 
dual, and most useful to mankind ; the attainment of 
which can only be hoped for from the advantages which 
solitude affords. Glowing with a sublime and g-ene- 
rous spirit, they sacrifice the joys of life, the charms of 
society, and even the advantages of health, to show 
their attachment to the species; and, immured from 
the sight of this world, toil, with indefatigable industry, 
for its benefit, without expecting any other reward than 
the satisfaction resulting from the sense of having pro- 
moted the interest, and advanced the happiness of their 
fellow creatures. So also, 

S^ge reflection, bent w ; th years; 
Conscious virtue, void of fears ; 
Muflleri silence, wood-nymph shy; 
Meditation's piercing eye ; 
Halcyon peace on moss reclhVd ; 
Retrospect, that sears the mind ; 
Rapt, earth-gazing reverie ; 
Blushing, artless modesty ; 
Health, that snuffs the morning air : 
Full-eyd truth, with bosom hare; 
Inspiration, nature's child, 
Seek the solitary wild. 

The state of the mind, if properly consulted, will dis- 
cover whether solitude may be safely indulged. The 
bosom that, amidst the gay delights and luxurious plea- 
sures of the world, feels a rising discontent and unea- 
siness, may try the retreats of solitude without danger : 
and if, after a certain period, an attachment to its mild 
and tranquil scenes continues, and the heart enjoys tha> 
quietude and content which it before so vainly wished 
to experience, society mav be advantageously relin- 
quished. The patient may, under such circumstances, 
safely indulge the natural inclinations of the mind, and 



286 CONCLUSION. 

gratify the habitual feelings of his heart: he may then 
exclaim in the language of the poet, 

81 Oh ! snatch me swift from those tumultuous scenes, 

To lonely groves ami sweetly verdant greens, 

To where religion, peace, anil comfort dwell, 

And cheer with heavenly rays the lonely cell : 

To where no milling winds, no raging seas, 

Disturb the mind amidst its pensive ease : 

Each passion calm ; where mild affections shine, 

The soul-enjoying quietude divine : 

Unknown in private or in public strife, 

Soft sailing down the placid stream of life : 

Aw'd by no terrors, by no cares perplex'd 3 

My life a gentle passage feu the next." 

But when that delightful tranquillity of mind, which 
an excess of social pleasure has impaired or destroyed, 
is not resiored to its original purity by the uninterrupt- 
ed quietude of seclusion, it may fairly be concluded, 
that there is some natural and constitutional defect, 
that defeats the remedy, and prevents the soul from 
tasting that serenity which is so essential 10 the enjoy- 
ment of human happiness. Under such circumstances 
it is dangerous to indulge the pleasures of solitude; the 
sufferer should fly back to society ; cultivate the duties 
of active life, and solicit, with temperate indulgence, 
its more agreeable enjoyments. For, although the 
pleasures and occupations of the world cannot eradi- 
cate this species of intellectual disease, they may, by 
bein^ judiciously followed, suspend its progress, and 
alleviate its pangs. That case must always be despe- 
rate, when the antidote is too weak to reach the poison, 
or to counteract its operation. A pious resignation to 
his fate can alone afford relief, 

c< Oh ! as it pleases thee, thou Power Supreme, 
To drive my bark thro' life's more rapid stream, 
If lowering storms my destin'd course attend, 
And ocean rage 'til this black voyage shall end, 
Let ocean rage, and storms indignant roar, 
I bow submissive and resign'd adore : 
Resign'd adore, in various changes tri'd ; 
Thy own lov'd Son my anchor and my guide: 
Resign'd adore, whate'er thy will decree ; 
My faith in Jesus, and my hope in Thee ; 
And humbly wait 'til, through a sea of woes, 
I reach the wish : d-for harbor of repose." 

There are, however, circumstances under which it is 
absolutely necessary to retire from the world, in order 
to avoid the recurrence of sentiments and feelings that 



CONCLUSION. 287 

are^pregnant with unhappiness* To a mind that feels 
unconquerable disgust of the mariners and maxims of 
a world which it cannot reform; to a heart that turns 
with horror from the various sights the world exhibits 
of human wo, which he is incapable of relieving ; to a 
bosom that is stung by the various vices which he can- 
not prevent or restrain, and which are hourly practised 
among the sons of men, retirement becomes" an obliga- 
tion which the justice that every good man owes to his 
own felicity demands. The impulse of solitude may in 
such cases be conscientiously indulged, in the firmest 
confidence of its rectitude. It is a retreat necessary to 
the preservation, not only of happiness but of virtue ; 
and the world itself may be benefited by its effects. Re- 
moved from the sad scenes of inactivity, wretchedness, 
and guilt, the tender feelings of pity are regulated with 
composure; the mind views its own operations with 
nicer discrimination ; the high sense of virtue is ren- 
dered less indignant ; and the hatred against vice more 
temperate and discerning. The violent emotions which 
created the disgusting pain gently subside ; and as our 
reflections on the condition of human nature prevail, 
the soul feels how incumbent it is to endeavor to bear 
with the follies, to alleviate the miseries, and to reform 
the vices of mankind ; while the leisure and quietude 
which solitude affords, enables a man, who has thus re- 
tired, to point out the most likely means of accomplish- 
ing the ends which his lonely meditation, and philan- 
thropic feelings, have generally inspired. 

" With aspect mild, and elevated eye, 

Behold him seated on a mount serene, 

Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm. 

All the black cares and tumults of this life, 

Like harmless thunder breaking at his feet, 

Excite his pity, nor impair his peace. 

Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave, 

A mingled mob ! a wandering herd I he sees, 

Bevvilder'din the vale ; in all unlike, 

His full reverse in all ! What higher praise 

What stronger demonstration of the right? 

Himself too much he prizes to be proud, 

And nothing thinks so great in man as man. 

Too dear he holds man's interest to neglect 

Another's welfare, or his right invade. 

Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heav'n, 

Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe ; 

But looks with gentle pity round, to find 

How he can best relieve another's wo, 

Or hush the vicious passions into peace." 



CONCLUSION. 

Those who have passed their lives in the domestic 
privacies of retirement; who have been only used to? 
the soft and gentle offices of friendship, and to the ten- 
der endearments of love ; who have formed their notion 
of virtue from those bright images which the purity 
of religion, the perfection of moral sentiments, and the 
feelings of an affectionate heart, have planted in their 
minds, are too apt to yield to the abhorrence and dis- 
gust they must unavoidably feel on a first view of the 
artificial manners and unblushing vices of the world* 
Issuing from the calm retreats of simplicity and inno- 
cence, and fondly hoping to meet with more enlarged 
perfection in the world, their amiable, just and benevo- 
lent dispositions are shocked at the sour severities, the 
sordid selfishness, the gross injustice, the base artifices, 
and the inhuman cruelties, which aeform the fairest 
features of social life, and disgrace the best famed fab- 
ric of human polity. Revolting, however, as this dis- 
appointment must certainly be, and greviously as the 
feelings of such characters be wounded on their enter- 
ing the world, it is a cowardly desertion of their duty 
to shrink from the task, and withdraw their services 
from their fellow creatures. Constituted as society is, 
human happiness, and the improvement of the species, 
materially depend upon the active concurrence of every 
individual in the general scheme of nature; and the 
man who withholds his assistance to promote the pub- 
lic good, loosens or destroys a link in that chain of 
things, by which the whole is intended to be kept to- 
gether and preserved. The doctrine, therefore cannot 
be too forcibly inculcated, that is indispensably incum- 
bent on every individual so to accommodate himself to 
the manners of his contemporaries, and the temper of 
the times, that he may have an opportunity of promo- 
ting the happiness of others, while he increases, his 
own ; of extending the scale of human knowledge by 
his social industry ; of relieving distress by his bounty } 
and of exhibiting the deformities of vice, and the beau- 
ties of virtue, both by his precept and example. And 
this sacred obligation, by which every good man feels 
himself so firmly bound to promote the welfare and 
happiness of his fellow creatures, of course enjoins him 
to shun, with equal perseverance, the giddy multitude 
in their pursuits of lawless pleasure, and to avoid the 
thoughtless votaries, and baneful orgies, of wit, intem- 
perance, and sensual debauchery. This is best effected; 
by every individual forming a rational scheme of do- 



CONCLUSION. 289 

mestlc enjoyment, and engaging in some useful occu- 
pation, in which neither the frivolous pursuits of the 
vainly busy, the ostentatious parade of the richly proud, 
the faithless pleasures of the unthinking gay, the insa- 
tiable anxieties of avarice, nor the distracting com- 
punctions of vice, shall form any part ; but in which, 
with a few amiable and faithful friends, he shall pass 
the intervals of virtuous industry, or charitable exertion, 
in the bosom of a fond and cheerful family, whose mu- 
tual endearments and affections will confer on each 
other the highest happiness human nature is capable of 
enjoying. 

Active in indolence, abroad who roam 
In quest of happiness, which dwells at home* 
With vain pursuits fatigu'd, at length will find 
Its real dwelling is a virtuous mind. 

Retirement, however, when it is not inconsistent 
With our duties to society^ or injurious to those family 
interests which it is one of our principal foundations of 
happiness to promote, is capable of producing the most 
beneficial effects on our minds. The self-communion 
which must accompany a wise and rational solitude, 
not only fosters and confirms our virtuous inclinations, 
but detects and expels those latent vices which have 
secretly crept into and corrupted the heart. Jt induces 
a habit of contemplation, which invigorates the facul- 
ties of the soul ; raises them to the highest energies, 
and directs them to purposes more elevated and noble 
than it was possible for them, amidst the business and 
pleasures of public life, to attain. It tends, indeed, to 
unfold the powers of the mind to so great an extent, 
that we are ashamed of having thought that our talents 
were confined within the limits we had prescribed, and 
blush at the ignorance and cowardice by which we 
were deceived. The activity of genius is unlimited, 
and the measure of its effects depends entirely upon a 
steady exertion of its powers. A courageous and per- 
severing industry is capable of surmounting every dif- 
ficulty, and of performing the highest achievements. 
A sense of intellectual weakness so far from being in- 
dulged, ought to be combated with fortitude and reso- 
lution, until it is completely destroyed. The human 
mind, like a noble tree, extends its branches widely 
round, and raises them to the skies, in proportion as 
the soil on which it grows is more or less cultivated 
and manured : tfut not being fixed to any certain sjyrt, 



290 CONCLUSION. 

its giowth may be improved to any size, by transplant- 
ing it to the soil in which it most delights to dwell. 
By that firm reliance on its natural strength, that inde- 
fatigable exertion of its improved powers, that steady 
observance of its successful operations, that warm and 
active zeal for excellence to which it is invited by the 
advantages, and encouraged by the opportunities, which 
seclusion affords, it will ascend from one stage of im- 
provement to another, from acquisition to acquisition ; 
and, by a gradual and steady progress, reach a compre- 
hensive elevation, as great and surprising as it was 
once thought visionary and unattainable. To these 
sublime and noble effects of human intellect, solitude is 
the sincerest guide and most powerful auxiliary ; and 
he who aspires to mental and moral excellence, whose 
soul is anxious to become both great and good, will, of 
course, seek its inspiring shades. 

Solitude, indeed, under any circumstances, can only 
become injurious by being carried to excess, or by 
being misapplied : and what is there that will not, by 
beimr abused, or misapplied, be rendered equally injuri- 
ous? The highest advantages society is capable of 
conferring, the loftiest flights of fancy, the best affec- 
tions of the heart, the greatest strength of body, the 
happiest activity 01 the mind, the elements of fire and 
water, the blessings of liberty, and, in short, all the ex- 
cellent gifts of Providence, as well as all the ingenious 
contrivances of man, may, by these means be perverted, 
their uses destroyed, their ends and objects defeated, 
and their operations and effects rendered extensively 
mischievous and detrimental. 

The general disadvantages which solitude is certain- 
ly capable of producing, cannot be lessened by conced- 
ing to its adversaries, that it is, when sought under un- 
favorable circumstances, inauspicious to human happi- 
ness. It would be overstepping the sacred boundaries 
of truth, and violating the rights of candor, not to 
admit that irrational solitude frequently overclouds the 
reason, contracts the understanding, vitiates the man- 
ners, inflames the passions, corrupts the imagination, 
sours the temper, and debases the whole character of 
its votaries. Nor is it necessary to deny, that many of 
them instead of employing the delightful leisure which 
retirement affords, to hush the jarring passions, to chas- 
tise the fancy, to elevate and adorn the mind, and to 
reform and meliorate the heart, have beerv too often 



CONCLUSION. 291 

occupied in the most frivolous pursuits, arid in the in- 
dulgence of the most sordid and criminal desires. 

But these instances in which the pure and peaceful 
retreats of solitude have been tainted and disturbed by 
the vicious and turbulent desires of the world, only de- 
monstrate the infirm, corrupt, and imperfect nature of 
the species, and not in the smallest degree, depreciate 
the value of those high advantages which result from 
occasional and well regulated solitude. 

It is said, by a celebrated German writer, in a poeti- 
cal personification of solitude, that she holds in one 
hand a cup of bliss, in which she presents unceasing 
sweets to the lips of the happy ; and in the other grasps 
an envenomed dagger, which she plants with increas- 
ing tortures in the bosom of the wretched ; but this 
must be considered as the language of the muse, and 
mere flight of poetic fancy ; except, indeed, so far as it 
tends to enforce the idea, that virtue will always be 
happy, and vice forever miserable ; for retirement, 
while it pours the balm of comfort into the aching bo- 
som of the unfortunate, and offers a cordial, cheering 
as nectar, to the drooping spirits of the wise and virtu- 
ous, only operates as a corrosive, agonizing poison, on 
the constitutions of the weak and vicious. 

It is a gross mistake, to suppose that the pleasures of 
social hie are incompatible witli the benefits to be de- 
rived from solitude, They may not only be intermin- 
gled with, but made mutually to aid and augment each 
other. Solitude may surely be enjoyed without under- 
going an exile from the world ; and society may be 
freely mixed with, without absolutely renouncing the 
pleasures of retirement. The circumstances of life, 
indeed, call loudly on every mind to interchange the 
pursuits of activity and scenes of quietude and repose. 
The alliance of solitude and society is necessary to the 
perfection not only of the intellectual character, but to 
the corporeal constitution of man. To conclude that 
the duties of life must necessarily be neglected by de- 
voting a portion of our time to solitude, is much more 
erroneous than to conclude that those duties are not al- 
ways fulfilled amidst the pleasures or business of so- 
ciety. 

Daily observation proves most clearly, that many of 
the charms, and some of the benefits, of rural retreat, 
may be enjoyed without retiring to any very considera- 
ble distance from the metropolis, the seat of social joys 
and interested activity. Petrarch, during his residence 



292 CONCLUSION. 

in the city of Parma, though extremely flattered by the 
friendship shown him, was glad to steal from public 
life as often as he could, and to indulge the high delight 
he naturally felt in wandering through the fields and 
woods which surrounded the metropolis. One day, led 
by his love of exercise, he passed the river of Lenza, 
which is three miles from Parma, and found himself 
in the territory of Rhegio, in a forest which is called 
Sylva Plana, or Low Wood: though it is situated upon 
a hill, from whence are discovered the Alps, and all Ci- 
salpine Gaul. Aged oaks, whose heads seemed to 
touch the clouds, sheltered the avenues of the forest 
from the rays of the sun : while the fresh breezes which 
descended from the neighboring mountains, and the 
little rivulets which brawled along its skirts, tempered 
the meridian heats of the day, and preserved to the 
earth, even in the greatest droughts, a soft verdure, 
enamelled with the finest flowers. Birds of every kind 
warbled forth their rural songs from the thick co- 
verts, while deer, and every animal of the chase, 
sported through the purlieus. In the middle of this 
beautiful forest nature had formed a romantic theatre, 
which, from its enchanting decorations, she seemed to 
have designed for the residence of the muses. The 
charms of this delightful retreat struck the mind of 
Petrarch with a sort of inspiration, and revived so 
strongly his original taste for solitude, that on his re- 
turn lo Parma, he endeavored to procure some spot 
near the environs of the city, to which he might occa- 
sionally retire from the fatigues of his archdeaconry, 
and indulge his mind in the blessings of innocence, and 
the delights of rural repose. The industry of his in- 
quiries soon furnished him with a small cottage, exact- 
ly suited to his wishes, situated at the end of the city, 
near the abbey of St. Anthony. To this place he fond- 
ly and frequently retired, whenever he could escape 
from the duties of his church, and the invitations of 
his friends. The superiority of his talents had at this 
time attracted the attention and applause of mankind ; 
and his engaging manners secured to him the respect 
and esteem of the nobles of Parma, who besieged him 
with the most friendly and flattering importunities to 
partake of their daily parties of pleasure. Petrarch, 
however, had formed notions of happiness very foreign 
to those which result from the society of luxurious 
lords or fashionable females, to whom, in general, poetry 
afforded no delight, nor philosophy instruction; and 



CONCLUSION. 293 

the companions to whom he could afford neither amuse- 
ment nor information, were not likely to afford him 
much satisfaction. The quiet and simple pleasures of 
retirement were more delightful to his mind than all 
the elegances and splendors of Parma ; but this par- 
tiality to retirement did not induce him to renounce 
the rational society which a few select friends, with 
whom he had closely connected himself, was occasion- 
ally capable of affording him. " So conveniently," says 
he, ;i is this delightful cottage situated, that I enjoy all 
the advantages of rural retirement, and yet retain vvith- 
in my reach ait the pleasures with which this gay and 
elegant city abounds. The society of a few select 
friends recreates my mind whenever it is distracted by 
the anxieties of study, or stagnated by the stilness of 
solitude: and when I am satiated with the pleasures of 
the town, I fly with rapture to the sweet repose, and to 
all the interesting and endearing occupations of this 
charming retreat. Oh ! may the kindness of fortune 
long indulge me in the .enjoyment of this neutral 
state; this happy alternation of rural tranquillity and 
convivial solace I a state of felicity to which neither the 
anchorites of Egypt, nor the philosophers of Greece, 
ever attained, In this humble abode let me quietly pass 
the remainder of my days, unseduced by the charms of 
greatness, and uninterrupted by the pleasures of the 
world. Fly, all ye vain delusions and fantastic dreams, 
from this cottage of content, and seek your native ter- 
ritories, the palaces of princes, and the altars of ambi- 
tion !" The voice of wisdom and virtue calls aloud on 
every man to adopt the scheme of happiness which 
Petrarch so successfully practised. By thus dividing 
our time between the busy cares and innocent amuse- 
ments of public life, and the studious and tranquil 
pleasures of retirement, between the gay pursuits of 
personal gratifications, and the more noble and elevated 
exercises of intellect, we may avoid the dangers of con- 
tracting, on the one hand, a passion for light and frivo- 
lous dissipation, and on the other a joyless disposition 
to misanthropic severity ; and may shun the most, 
if not all the evil consequences which either soli- 
tude or society is capable of producing, which when 
indulged irrationally, or indiscreetly, in general prove 
the Scylla or Charybdis of our lives. 

These are the observations which it has occurred to 
me to make upon the advantages or disadvantages with 
which those important means of human happiness ara 



294 CONCLUSION. 

respectively pregnant. I can truly say, that I have felt, 
whenever the cares of life, and the duties of my pro- 
fession, have allowed me leisure to retire, the most 
sublime and satisfactory enjoyment from solitude; and 
1 sincerely wish that every one who is disposed to taste 
it, may receive the same comfort and pleasure from its 
charms. But I exhort them, while they enjoy the sacred 
blessings of repose, not to neglect the social virtues, 
the consolations of friendship, or the endearments of 
love; but so manage the wants of nature, and arrange 
the business and concerns of life, as to find an ade- 
quate portion of leisure for the noble duties of retire- 
ment, as well as for company and conversation of the 
world. May they in short, enjoy the admiration and 
esteem of their friends, and a complacent approbation 
of their own conduct, without losing that relish for the 

Eleasures of rational retirement, by which alone these 
iffh advantages are most likely to be gained. 
To love all mankind, and to promote, to the utmost 
of our power, the happiness of all those with whom we 
are more intimately connected, is the highest injunc- 
tion both of morality and religion. But this important 
duty certainly does not require that we should surren- 
der ourselves with servile obedience, or abject submis- 
sion, to any one, however superior he may be, either in 
talents, in station, or in merit. On the contrary, it is 
the duty of every one, not only to cultivate the inclina- 
tion, but to reserve the power of retiring occasionally 
from the world, without indulging a disposition to re- 
nounce its society or contemn its manners. While we 
assert, with manly resolution, the independent spirit of 
human nature, our happiness may be considerably aug- 
mented, by extracting from the multitudinous affairs 
of the world, the various enjoyments and wise instruc- 
tions it is capable of affording. Society is the school of 
wisdom, and solitude the temple of virtue. In the one 
we learn the art of living with comfort among our fel- 
low creatures, and in the other, of living with quietude 
by ourselves. A total retreat from the world would 
place us aside from that part which Providence chiefly 
intended us to act; but without occasional retreat, it is 
certain that we must act that part very ill. There will 
be neither consistency in the conduct, nor dignity in the 
character, of one who sets apart no share of his time 
for meditation and reflection. " In the heat and bustle 
of life," says an eloquent preacher, "while passion is 
every moment throwing false colors on the objects 



CONCLUSION. 295 

around us, nothing can be viewed in a just light. If you 
wish that reason should exert her native power, you 
must step aside from the crowd into the cold and silent 
shade. It is thus that with sober and steady eye she ex- 
amines what is good or ill, what is wise or foolish, in 
human conduct: she looks back on the past; she looks 
forward to a future ; and forms plans not for the pre- 
sent moment only, but for the whole life. How should 
that man discharge any part of his duty aright, who 
never suffers his passions to cool? And how should 
his passions cool, who is engaged, without interruption, 
in the tumults of the world ? This incessant stir may 
be called the prrpetual drunkenness of life. It raises 
that eager fermentation of spirit, which will be ever 
sending forth the dangerous fumes of rashness and folly. 
Whereas he who mingles rational retreat with worldly 
affairs, remains calm and master of himself. He is not 
whirled round, and rendered giddy by the agitation of 
the world : but from that sacred retirement, in which 
he has been conversant among higher objects, comes 
forth into the world with manly tranquillity, fortified 
by principles which he has formed, and prepared for 
whatever may befal." 

Sweet solitude ! when life's gay hours are past, 
Howe'er we range, in thee we fix at last. 
Toss'd thro' tempestuous seas, the voyage o'er, 
Pale we look back, and bless the friendly shore. 
Our own strict judges, our past life we scan 
And ask if glory hath enlarged the span : 
If bright the prospect we the grave defy, 
Trust future ages, and contented die. 



THE END. 



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